


A Trial of Faith

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: The Way of Thedas [9]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:22:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: The blight is over, but the monstrous darkspawn haven't vanished. Instead, new darkspawn have been seen in the areas surrounding Amaranthine. Melina Amell, the King's mage advisor, is sent to help the Orlesian elf the Grey Wardens have sent to investigate. Danette Andras, a new but respected Grey Warden, would rather be anywhere other than backwater Ferelden. When the Wardens at Vigil's Keep are all slaughtered, these two women will have to work together alongside two apostates, an assassin who wants them dead, two strange dalish elves, and a morbid dwarf in order to defeat their foes, darkspawn or otherwise.AU/canon divergent. Tells the tale of Dragon Age: Awakening but with new / different plot elements and relationships. Tags subject to change as I write.





	1. Act One: Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE***
> 
> If this is the first thing you're reading in this series, here is a brief rundown of the important AU lore points that have been changed/developed during previous stories. The other AU points aren't relevant to this particular story, so I'll leave them out in case this is the only one you want to read.
> 
> * The Sabrae clan (Merrill and Mahariel's clan) have moved to the Wending Wood to escape the Blight after Mahariel has a vision from Asha'bellanar. While in the Wending Woods, Merrill and Velanna became romantically involved until their clans were attacked. The Sabrae clan moved on to Kirkwall, but Merrill stayed behind because she wanted to protect Velanna from herself.- (one shot) http://archiveofourown.org/works/7112710
> 
> * Spirit Healers must be empaths. Non-empaths who wish to heal can only do basic healing spells.
> 
> * Jalyn Surana and Jowan were in a relationship until she is made tranquil in an effort to protect her best friend, Melina Amell. Amell and Cullen were in a brief, almost-a-relationship but was broken off by Cullen because he felt he couldn't properly protect her. (both the above can be found in short story "Collision" http://archiveofourown.org/works/4236915)
> 
> * Melina Amell and Jowan allied with the Wardens, Daveth and Alistair, when they met up at the Tower of Ishal. Amell bonded with the mabari hound, Dane, who previously belonged to Warden Cousland. Cousland died at the Tower. Jowan did undertake the Joining after the Landsmeet. Maroth Tabris, aka The Dark Wolf,  
> was also a companion character and romanced Zevran, but not as a Warden. (Large fic- http://archiveofourown.org/works/6845023)
> 
> * While trapped in the Fade during The Broken Circle Quest, Melina was forced to make a deal with a Choice spirit, and traded Wynne's body as Izanami's vessel to cure Jalyn of her tranquility and save her life. Amell was also bonded with a Faith spirit during this time, the same one who would have bonded with Wynne in game canon. Wynne still is alive, but her body is host to the Choice "spirit" Izanami- http://archiveofourown.org/works/6845023

 

Blood pours in crimson streams down Cullen's face, mingling with the dirt and tears. Melina stretches out her hand, muscles screaming in pain, as she tries in vain to reach him. A bloodcurdling screech escapes the templar's lips. He falls to his knees, fingers clutching at the grass as his back arches and his head bows. 

"Ser Cullen, take my hand, please," Melina calls out, her voice filled with the wretched sound of desperation. 

Cullen slowly lifts his head, eyes glowing bright red. His lips curve into a wicked grin that sends shivers down her spine. "You fool," he whispers, laughter bubbling from his throat. "You will be the first mage I kill."

Horns sprout from his head as the demon takes hold, angry rolling off him in hot, thick waves. Melina shakes her head as she backs away, tears spilling from her honey coloured eyes. "No," she whispers, fingers brushing against the Andrastian pendant that sits nestled against her throat. "No, please," she begs.

His teeth are jagged, sharp things as he leers over her, barely recognizable from the man she knows him to be. "Come, come pretty little thing," he taunts, his voice slipping across her mind. "Can your precious Maker save you now?"

 _This can't be real, this **can't** be real. _ She trips over her long, soft pink mage's robes, landing on the ground as her heart beats in fear. _Cullen would never break like this._

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, the dream shatters and she's ripped away from the Fade, and the demon impersonating Cullen, in a rush of swirling green and gold hues that steal her vision and her breath. She wakes up, covered in a sheen of sweat, heart racing beneath her breasts. Melina clutches at the Grey Warden quilt covering her plump form. Dane, her mabari war hound, whimpers from his place at her feet.

"Behold, the Maker is my salvation; I will trust, and will not be afraid; for the Lord Maker is my strength and my song, and He has become my salvation," Melina whispers to the empty room, hands still trembling.

The sunlight shines through the open window, twinkling in reds and blues from the stained glass. She takes a deep breath, counting slowly backwards from ten, before getting out of bed. She pads across the cold stone floor of Vigil's Keep, a smile curling her lips as she listens to the birds singing the dawn chorus.

_"The darkspawn have... not retreated," Alistair says, brows furrowed tight beneath his strawberry blonde hair. "Since Daveth put me on the throne, I can't investigate it myself so the First Warden is sending an Orlesian Commander to Amaranthine to see why the beasts haven't gone back to the Deep Roads like they're bloody supposed to."_

_Melina can sense his conflicting emotions swirling around inside of him- grief over Daveth's death, anger over his new title, and a gnawing curiosity he can't deny. He looks at her, deep brown eyes full of sadness._

_She takes a slow breath out through her nose, laying a hand on his arm. "I'm sure they'll solve the mystery, my friend," she replies, a gentle smile accompanying the calming magic she sends toward him._

_Alistair sighs, hand reaching out to ruffle her thick curls before dropping back to his side. "The nobles aren't happy that anyone from Orlais will be involved," he admits. "Neither is my... wife," he adds, face twisting into a grimace at the mention of Queen Anora._

_Melina frowns, feeling his hesitation. "What will you do?"_

_He looks away, unable to meet her eyes. "I have to send someone I trust to watch over the Warden Commander, someone who I can convince the nobles that they have Ferelden's best interests at heart. Someone... not Orlesian."_

_The realization of what he means slams into her. Her first thought is that she doesn't want to fight again, and especially not more darkspawn. She's tired, weary of battle and death. She's never been a fighter. But her friendship and loyalty to Alistair is stronger than her fear. "I doubt they'll accept a mage alone. Who will be accompanying me?"_

_Alistair shoots her a grateful smile before answering. "My new lieutenant, Mhairi. She wants to be a Warden, but I've convinced her to wait to join until after this new threat is settled."_

Melina shakes herself from the memory as she slides on her mage's robes, the thick fabric soft against her skin. Their arrival at the enormous fortress had been met with suspicion by the Orlesian Grey Wardens, and a great deal of anger that the new King and Queen of Ferelden sent what amounts to a babysitter to watch over them. But over the fortnight she's spent with them, they've slowly begun to accept her and Mhairi's presence, especially since the young lieutenant's enthusiasm and respect for the Wardens is obvious.

The new Warden Commander is supposed to arrive today, accompanied by a bard companion from Orlais. She wonders what she'll be like, if she's stern and curt like Kristoff or funny and compassionate like Rhyn. Melina enters the Dining Hall where the Wardens are all gathered for breakfast, colossal amounts of food filling the stone tables. She can smell the savory-sweet sausages and breakfast cakes and smiles, eyes looking around to see if the aforementioned two wardens have returned yet. Her smile falters, briefly, when she sees their empty spots at the table. She sends a silent prayer to the Maker that they're alright.

Seneschal Varel greets her with a worried smile. She curtsies, the old habit still there even after a year of fighting. "Good morning, Seneschal," she murmurs, voice soft.

He nods, a bit too quickly, before replying. "Uh, Miss Amell? There's a matter I must bring to your attention. I'm sorry to bother you before you've had your morning meal-"

Melina smiles, pulling her white-blonde hair into a low, messy ponytail. "Not at all, good Ser. Please, how may I assist?"

He smiles back at her, his gratitude filling the room as they walk. "Thank you, Miss. There's a small group of templars just arrived, seeking to stay here overnight before returning to the circle."

"Oh? It'll be nice to see a templar again, after all this time," she replies genuinely. 

Varel shoots her an odd look, one eyebrow raised in confusion. "Really? Beg pardon, Miss, but that's an odd opinion for a mage."

"The templars are designed to protect mages as well, Seneschal," she replies.

"Right, true enough," he says, clearing his throat. "Anyhow, they have with them an apostate. An apparently very dangerous one and I was hoping you'd be willing to meet with him, to see if it's safe he stays here at the Keep?"

A trickle of fear slides down Melina's spine but she forces a smile and nods. "Of course, Ser. Please, lead the way."

Melina reaches down to brush her fingertips against Dane's head, drawing comfort from the dog. They walk the rest of the way in silence until they reach the Grand Hall, where a few Wardens stand at attention, eyeing the templars with a certain guarded wariness. She knows it's because they have a few mages in their ranks, mostly former apostates and criminals. She can still remember the concern she had felt at finding out the Wardens were often a haven for outlaws, even mage outlaws, but she's felt no signs of corruption in the three mages currently stationed here.

She drops another curtsy toward the templars who glare at her, though she understands why. Knight-Commander Greagoir had not been pleased when Alistair had announced Melina would be staying with him at the Denerim palace as his mage advisor, going so far as to almost declare her an apostate before Irving intervened. 

_"Don't be ridiculous, Greagoir. Who better as a mage advisor to the King of Ferelden but one who is loyal to the templars and the Chantry?"_

Greagoir had agreed, albeit reluctantly, and still requires monthly checks with Knight-Captain Hadley to prove her free of corruption. But the visits from the Knight-Captain were not unwelcomed, since they remind her of home. 

"Well, of course it would be _you_ they send," a voice grumbles from behind the templars. "Come to check to make sure I'm not a hideous threat to the precious Wardens?"

Melina's eyes widen in shock.  _I know this voice._ "Anders? Maker's breath... ." Her sentence trails off as Anders steps forward, his blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and golden hoop earring hanging from one ear.

Memories of the last time she had seen him, bruised and bloody in Arl Eamon's dungeon, rush into her mind. She had helped him escape, though that regret still sits strongly with her, even now. She had hoped, however naively, that Anders would turn himself in, overwhelmed with guilt over having poisoned an innocent man.

Apparently, she was wrong.

Anders bows ironically, a smirk playing with the edges of his lips. "Ah, and so the pretty lass is tongue tied. Tell me, Mels, am I threat to the Grey Wardens or may we rest here for a night before my gracious jailers take me back to prison?" The sarcasm in his question is heavy enough that even Melina can't miss it, and one of the templars kicks him in the leg for it.

"Shut it, apostate, before we sew yer lips shut like the damned Qunari," the young man mutters, narrowing his eyes.

Anders rolls his eyes, mimicking the gesture of locking his lips shut.

Melina frowns, turning to Varel. "Anders is a good man, Seneschal, if a bit rebellious. You needn't fear him."

A sudden scream echoes throughout Vigil's Keep, causing everyone in the room to jump to attention. A dark, menacing presence fills the area- a presence Melina has learned to identify with the wretched darkspawn.  

"To arms!" one of the Grey Wardens calls out.

Dane's hackles are raised, teeth bared in a silent snarl as Mhairi rushes to Melina's side. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she grabs her sword from her belt. "Come, Miss Amell, we should help the Wardens."

Melina nods, grabbing the staff strapped to her back. "Yes, of course," she replies. 

Darkspawn pour into the room, growling with hatred so thick that it nearly chokes the empath. "Maker, preserve us," she whispers before casting a repulsion glyph on the ground.

She can still remember the first time she had ever fought darkspawn, a year ago in the Tower of Ishal with Jowan. This time, it's Anders at her back as they both fling spell after spell at the horde of monstrous creatures that flood the large room. Somehow, in the chaos of fighting, Melina and Mhairi are separated from Anders and the templars, retreating back into the bowels of Vigil's Keep.

She can feel the death of the Wardens outnumbering their victories, and fear threatens to overwhelm her senses. She says a silent prayer, drawing strength in her faith, and pushes onward, refusing to give in. 

"The Maker is my fire and my strength, and through Him I will not be left to wander the drifting Fade alone," she whispers, focusing her magic into a cold storm that freezes her nearby enemies into solid chunks of ice.

Furrowing her brow, she channels her inner well of power, picturing large boulders in her mind. The stones fly from her staff, slamming into and shattering the icy statues. An arrow slips past her barriers, slicing her arm as it grazes her. She winces, but pushes the pain to the back of her mind. She looks to Mhairi, locked in a one-on-one combat with a hurlock, and tries to shout above the roar of battle.

"We should head to the jail cells," she hollers. "The prisoner there might be able to help us fight."

Mhairi snorts, shoving her sword into the heart of the beast she's fighting. "Sorry, Miss, but do you really think he'll help us after trying to kill the Wardens?"

Melina nods as she races for the door, Dane following close behind. "It won't be the first time I've seen an enemy of the Wardens turn ally," she replies, thinking of Zevran.

"As you say, Miss," Mhairi replies, though Melina can feel the dubiousness in tone alone.

Warden corpses litter the ground, mingled with far fewer darkspawn bodies than she had hoped to see as they rush toward the jail cell the Howe is being kept in. His anger is as hot and thick as it was the day they'd met, when it had taken mutiple wardens to bring him down. Dark purple bruising covers one eye and his long brown hair hangs in limp, greasy tendrils against his shoulders. He glares at them from behind the bars, teeth bared in a snarl.

Melina drops a curtsy even as darkspawn pound against the closed doors, desperately trying to reach them. "Hello, Ser Howe," she says, forcing the fear to stay out of her voice.

Howe lets out a loud, rumbling laugh. "Ser? Your precious  _warden_ friends made sure I would never be a 'ser' again, when they murdered my father and stole my lands," he replies, a menacing glint in his grey eyes.

Beneath his anger and fear, Melina can feel a well of grief so thick it threatens to swallow her whole. She bites her bottom lip, unsure what to do to convince him his father had been a cruel and evil man. But that had been Daveth's role, or Alistair's. She is no leader of men, with smooth charisma able to win over anyone to their side. Nor did she have Maroth's swagger and charm.

She meets his eyes, sticking her chin out as firmly as possible. "We could argue about this now, perhaps even kill each other in the process but the darkspawn come for us all. They see no difference in you and I, and will take us both if we don't unite against them," she says, sending the barest hint of magic his way. A gentle, calming wave of energy meant to help ease his grief. "Please," she adds, dropping her voice down to a whisper.

Howe raises one eyebrow, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. "Please? Well, how am I too resist a pretty lass who says 'please'?" he mocks. He sighs, closing his eyes against the darkspawn growls. "Fine. Give me my armour and my bow, and I will fight at your side, lass. But I make no promises after the battle is over," he warns.

Melina smiles as Mhairi unlocks the chest nearby. She points her staff at the lock on the prison bars, shattering it with an ice spell. "Thank you, Ser Howe. May the Maker, in His infinite glory, watch over us all."

Howe snorts, rolling his shoulders as he reaches for his belongings. "Nathaniel. Just Nathaniel."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Act One: Chapter Two

Mhairi's hand reaches up, bloody fingertips brushing against Melina's chin. "Tell my parents, I'm sorry," she whispers, grimacing in pain.

Blood stains the front of Melina's robes, turning the rose fabric black and deep red. Nathaniel's arrows keep the darkspawn at bay as the healer presses her hands over Mhairi's wounds. She shakes her head, frizzy curls tumbling loose from the ponytail. "You're not dying, leastwise not today," Melina replies.

She closes her eyes, bringing up a swell of mana. Her body aches from battle, the last of her lyrium long since gone. The wardens are all dead or missing. There's nothing but the Vigil's soldiers left now, fighting the remaining darkspawn. Her magic flickers in and out, sputtering against her fatigue. "The Maker is my strength, my Will, and my focus," she whispers, forcing the last dredges of her healing magic to the surface.

It pours into Mhairi, knitting her wounds and stopping the blood flow. Dark circles line Melina's eyes, shoulders sagging as she cradles Mhairi in her lap. "There now, see? All better," she says.

Mhairi sits up, frowning as she reaches for her sword. "You shouldn't have done that, Miss. Now how will you fight?"

Melina's lips part, an answer on the tip of her tongue, when the door bursts open. Anger mingled with fierce determination floods the room.

"Time for you to die, darkspawn," a voice growls from the doorway. 

She glances up to see a woman dressed in silver and blue Grey Warden armour, blue-grey eyes flashing beneath her helm. A yellow aura hovers around her, in stark contrast to her dark skin. "Sketch, blast these fiends before I truly lose my temper," she says, the rich Orlesian accent heavy in her voice.

A man steps from behind her, a frown on his solemn face. His robes are red and white and bear an unfamiliar insignia on them. "Of course, love," he replies, sending out a burst of mana that scorches the entire room. "Time to die, critters," he quips, his accent bland and undetectable.

Most of the remaining darkspawn fall in a heap of mutilated flesh. The Grey Warden commander grins as she uses her daggers to take out the remaining few. "There now, that's a sight bit better, yes?" she asks, glancing across the space. "Now, who do we have here? Not Wardens, I can tell, and neither are you soldiers."

Melina gets to her feet, wobbling a bit as she drops a curtsy. "Melina Amell, of Kinloch Hold, Warden-Commander," she murmurs in reply. "This is Ser Mhairi of Dragon's Peak and..." her voice trails off as she looks at Nathaniel.

The rogue smirks, grey eyes full of disapproval. "And I am Nathaniel Howe, the rightful owner of this Keep. I'm also the one who came to kill your men."

The Warden-Commander raises an eyebrow, the wrinkles around her eyes growing deeper with concern. "Oh? Did you summon the darkspawn then or had you another means to kill an entire accompaniment of seasoned Wardens?" she asks, tone clearly mocking.

Nathaniel shrugs, a glint in his eyes. "I thought perhaps poison would end them quickly enough, though not painlessly."

Laughter bursts from the Warden-Commander's lips. "True enough. I like you. There is a fire in you seldom found in a Ferelden. Come, let us set aside our differences and defeat the last of these monsters, yes?"

"And what will you do with me after that?" Nathaniel asks, glancing over at Melina.

The commander grins, deep purple lips splitting to show slightly crooked teeth. "I shall most likely have you hung, no? Or perhaps I could use a fine archer now that my Wardens are dead. I do believe I hold the Right of Conscription, even here in this... muddy and brown backwater country."

Nathaniel snorts, the sound punctuating the air. "Right, so the Wardens are a crazy lot then. Wonderful."

The commander snaps her fingers. "Ah, how very rude of me. I have forgotten to introduce myself, yes? Yes. I am Warden-Commander Danette Andras. This is Sketch. Though he is not a warden, he is my lover so do try not to harm him or I will be most put out."

Sketch nods curtly at them, eyeing Melina in particular. "You're a mage, right? And you're out of mana. Here," he says, tossing her a bottle of lyrium. "Drink up."

The lyrium burns its way down her throat as she gulps it. Her mana returns in a rush, intoxicating and heady, and she wavers on her feet. She can feel that it's been tampered with, to boost its effect. She frowns, disapproving of anything not Chantry approved, but keeps her silence. For now. She eyes Sketch warily, wondering if that strange feeling she's getting is a sign of blood magic or magic she's just not familiar with. 

She's here to watch over the Wardens, and she knows if she criticizes them too harshly then she'll never gain their trust. It goes against her nature to hold something back, especially when it comes to magic, but she promised Alistair she would be his eyes and ears.  The realization that she's almost a spy hits her hard- spies deal in lies and shadows and half-truths. Her fingers, trembling slightly, brush against the cool metal of her Andrastian pendant. Her thoughts are chaos, conflicting, agonizing, as they continue to fight, driving back the last of the darkspawn from the inner walls of the Keep.

Her clothes are soaked with blood and sweat and dirt. She focuses her energy on glyphs and barriers, using up only a minimal amount of her mana. Danette moves in a blur of motion, dodging in and out of shadows so quick that it's hard for Melina to keep track. Sketch is always nearby, augmenting her natural reflexes with  haste spells and offensive magic. They work in tandem, seeming to know exactly where the other will be before they're actually there. Melina watches in awe, surprised to see such fluid combat.

Mhairi limps even as she fights, favouring her sprained ankle as she slams her shield into the darkspawn monsters. Sweat coats her face, which grows paler as they continue on. Nathaniel keeps the creatures from overwhelming the warrior with his arrows, firing them at lightening speed as he dodges and rolls. Dane lunges at the genlocks, ripping out their throats with a growl.

"Rowland," Mhairi cries out, running toward a bleeding man, lying on the ground.

Blood bubbles on his lips, a sickening black colour. "Mh-Mhairi?"

Tears prick the corner of the woman's eyes. "We must do something for him. He's a warden recruit, a Knight like me. Please," she begs, brown eyes boring into Melina's.

Melina shakes her head, the pain in Rowland's body overwhelming. He's so near death that it makes her feel ill, dizziness flooding her head. "I'm sorry, Ser Mhairi. Not even a healer's skill can fix this," she whispers.

Mhairi frowns, tears pouring down her face. "No! I won't accept that! You have to  _try,_ " she insists, clutching Rowlands hand in her own. "You can't give up without even trying."

Sketch snorts, rolling his eyes. "The most we can do is give him a shot of whiskey to ease his pain. There's nothing else left and we need to save Amell's mana for more important things."

"More important?" Mhairi repeats, eyes bulging. "What is more important than a man's life? He wanted to join your order and you'd just abandon him like this?"

He raises an eyebrow at her, unfazed by her anger. "The wardens aren't  _my_ order, girlie, so hold your tongue. You know nothing of magic or it's capabilities. Or it's limitations."

Danette places a hand on Mhairi's shoulder, pity in her eyes. "Sketch is right. I can sense more powerful darkspawn further in, and it will take all we have to fight it. I am sorry, truly."

Mhairi shakes off the comforting hand. "Maybe I was wrong about the Wardens, after all," she mutters.

Rowland turns his head weakly toward Danette. "Th- The Commander?"

Danette nods. "Yes, monsieur. I am sorry I did not arrive in time to save you," she replies, head bowed.

Rowland coughs, blood spewing from his mouth. "You should know... There's one with them, a darkspawn who talks. Hi-His magic is powerful."

The Commander's head snaps up, eyes widening in fear and disbelief that chokes Melina. "Talks? Darkspawn cannot  _talk,_ " she replies, the horror clear in her voice as Melina raises her shields to block out the emotions.

Nathaniel frowns. "Perhaps he is delusional?"

Melina closes her eyes, brushing her magic across his mind. "I sense no madness there; only fear."

"Putain," Danette whispers. 

Rowland grimaces, pain wracking his body and overwhelming Melina's shields. She drops to her knees, fingers tangling in her hair as he screams. Dane whimpers at her side. nuzzling his big, slobbery head against her arm.

"There's something, in my blood! It burns!" 

Tears flow freely down Melina's cheeks as she struggles to block out Rowland's agony. Her barriers flicker in and out, unable to withstand his pain. Danette frowns, fingers reaching out to stroke Rowland's cheek. "I can give you a quick death, monsieur, if you wish," she says, voice soft.

Mhairi shoves the Warden away. "What? No! You can't," she says.

Rowland takes her hand, eyes glassy. "It's okay, Mhairi. I'm not getting better." He turns his head toward Danette. "It was an honour to meet you, Commander. I wish... I wish I could have fought at your side, just once... "

As Danette slides the blade between his ribs, Mhairi closes her eyes, hand over her heart. "I will avenge you, Rowland. I swear it," she whispers with passion.

Nathaniel extends a hand to Melina, concern crinkling his brow. "You're an empath, right? You need to work on those shields."

Melina allows him to help her to her feet, offering a shaky smile in return. "Thank you, Nathaniel," she replies. She turns to Rowland's corpse, holding a hand out over his body. "Incline, O Maker, Thine ear to our prayers, in which we humbly beseech Thy mercy, that Thou wouldst place the soul of Thy servant, which Thou hast caused to depart from this world, into the region of peace and light; and unite in the fellowship of Thou's beloved Bride, Andraste."

Sketch blinks at her for a moment before sighing. "Well aren't you a prime model of Chantry upbringing," he mutters. 

Danette guides them onward, traces of her anxiety and fear lingering in the air like a foul perfume. She holds her wickedly curved daggers in a defensive position as they walk up the final stairs to the battlements.

Melina can feel the familiar presence of the darkspawn- tainted, rotting; malcice rolling off in thick, hot waves that scald her mind. But beneath all those dark layers lies something else, something she's never felt in a darkspawn. A savage intelligence glowing faintly, not as strong and ravaging as that of the Archdemon, but still there nonetheless. Strong magic is tinged in its mind, untapped potential beneath twisted flesh and bone.

A glowing blue barrier shimmers in her thoughts a moment before she sees Anders, alone, staff in hand. "Just a thought, but you might want to be careful out there," he says, a layer of caution beneath his joking manner.

Suspicion follows close on the heels of her relief as she eyes the mage. "Anders... Where are templars?" she asks.

He frowns, narrowing his golden brown eyes at her. "Worried about your friends? Your concern is touching."

Danette raises an eyebrow. "Darkspawn attacked. Anders is lucky to be alive," she says, walking toward him. "Good to see you made it."

"Not surprised I came back?"

She grins, sending a wink over her shoulder as she peers around the corner. "At at all," she replies.

"That bad at the whole 'fugitive from justice' thing, am I?" he says with a chuckle. 

Sketch joins them, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "As bad as ever, friend," he quips.

Melina momentarily balks at the ease between the three, and the overwhelming sense that they knew one another. She blinks, uncertainty making her hesitate. She doesn't have time to process it; an explosion of emotion and corruption both hitting her simultaneously.

_we're going to die_

_die_

_what is it_

_maker save us_

_what_

Everyone's thoughts, mingled into one continuous stream, roar inside her head while blackest corruption dances across her mind. It seers her flesh in a sudden wave, and a scream escapes her lips. She looks up to see a darkspawn staring them, beady black eyes rotting and rolling in it's skull. Flesh red with blood and exposed muscle twitches as it speaks.

"Be taking these ones gently. We are wishing no more death than necessary." It's words are spoken in a deep growl with a dual tone hiss following in tandem. 

Danette bares her teeth in a fierce snarl. "Your kind knows nothing of mercy, fiend. For the lives you have taken today, I will end yours," she says, and Melina can feel her pushing back the choking feel of fear.

The creature almost seems amused as it watches them. "You are thinking you know of our kind, Grey Warden? It is understandable. But that will soon be changed." Something akin to hope laces through his tone, and the contradiction of hope and corruption battle in Melina's mind until she vomits on the stone.

She clenches her fists, wiping the spit from her lip, and glares at the beast. A _nd she will know no fear of death, for the Maker s_ _hall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._ She crosses her heart, gripping her staff close. She draws upon her inner well of mana, the last remaining dredges of will bolstered by Faith. A vibrating ring of energy shoots from her body from all sides as other darkspawn surround them. It passes through her allies and slams into the darkspawn, knocking all but the very strangest to the ground. Her companions waver momentarily, swaying ever so slightly on their feet before leaping into battle. 

Her legs shake, trembling beneath her robes, but she doesn't allow herself to focus on it now. She slams her staff into the ground, sending another bolt of energy toward the talking darkspawn. Dane howls, long and high, before leaping at its arm, tearing into the diseased flesh. Mhairi and Danette flank the beast, attacking with powerful blows as it bleeds. 

The monster is not without its own tricks, grotesque hands spinning as it channels dark magic into lighting that singes their armour. Anders counters it with snow and ice, hard pack balls that smack like fists against its already dented helm. Sketch and Nathaniel focus on the darkspawn knocked unconscious by Melina's spell of Faith. The magee draws from their life source, pulling their energy and spinning it into stamina for the warriors, pushing them forward while the archer picks off the ones starting to wake. 

"He... has... foretold..." the creature whispers, falling to the ground in a heap, finally succumbing to its wounds.

The darkspawn are gone; all dead or retreated from wherever they had come from. Melina sags against the wall, body overwhelmed with weariness. Dane whimpers, blood leaking from burns and cuts. She leans against him, trying to push healing magic into her beloved hound. "Shh, boy, I'm sorry," she whispers, magic flickering out.

She doesn't have the will left to heal him, but she can still sense his life force, steady and strong even beneath his wounds. A touch of corruption trickles through his blood, and she frowns as her eyelids flutter close from exhaustion. 

"Now that we have saved the Keep, I do have questions for you, Amell," Danette says. "Where is Grey Warden Kristoff?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art of Danette 'Dani' Andras by me


	3. Act One: Chapter Three

The Fade twists and turns, eerie green smoke clinging to her ankles. "Dane? Beasty, where are you?" 

She calls out the question, cupping her hands around her mouth. It echoes back to her, the sound repeating but backward. Laughter follows close behind it.

"I know you, demon," she whispers, clutching her fists. "What do you want, Izanami?"

A slow, bubbling laughter trickles from the fog. "Can't even start with 'hello', not even for an old friend?" Yellow eyes, like stolen starlight, flicker from the shadows. A willowy icy blue form snakes its way toward her, blurring with the Fade. 

Melina frowns, narrowing her eyes at the so-called 'spirit of choice'. "You're no friend of mine," she reminds the creature. "Begone. Our deal... is done. You have what you wanted, so why do you pester me still?" she asks, unable to meet her eyes. To look at her is to bring a bitter memory of her greatest betrayal. 

Smoke drifts upward, a cloying sweet smell clogging the air. It clings to her hair and stings her eyes, bitter tears welling. Izanami crooks a finger under her chin, lifting her so that they stand face-to-face. "Your Wynne was a strong empath. She... left an imprint on me when I ripped her mind from her. Sometimes, her pathetic thoughts enter my head. Like a concern for you."

"Concern? You're a liar," Melina replies. "I thought you knew everything? How can it be you didn't know this would happen?"

Izanami chuckles, a soft smile curling her lips. "Not everything. Just more than you, mortal," she chides.

Melina's eyes widen at the demon's words. "You're trying to trick me, demon," she replies, shoving Izanami's hand away. "You're a "spirit of choice", right? That's your claim? Well I name you as a **demon** of choice. Your "choices"... they're not real, they're an illusion of choice. That is what separates you from a _spirit_ of anything." She hurls the accusations at her, glaring with anger running through her veins like burning liqueur. 

Izanami grins. "If a demon is what you see, than a demon I can be," she replies. Her eyes brighten, glowing like a burning sun so luminescent that it steals Melina's vision. Her teeth sharpen to razor points as a hiss escapes her lips. "Can you defeat a demon in the Fade or are you still too weak from  _nearly dying."_

Dying? She wasn't... Was she? "This is a trick," she replies, but uncertainty slips through.

Izanami chuckles, the light in her eyes dimming. "Ask the little spirit inside you," she taunts. 

Melina takes a deep breath, searching inside her for Faith. What had she been doing before... before....

 

_"Where is Warden Kristoff?"_

 

_"Wasted mana"_

 

_"Fereldans and their Maker forsaken ho-"_

 

_"Empathic strain.. sensory.... overload combined with.. with Maker's breath..."_

 

_"Fucking hyp-"_

 

Faith flutters in a panic, fear snaking oily tendrils through them both. Izanami grins, a wicked flashing of perfect teeth. "Ah, so you have learned nothing from my lessons, mortal? You must practice control..." 

The voice drifts away, the Fade fading around in swirling greens and blacks.

"Miss Amell?" Danette's face hovers above her, brow furrowed and wrinkles deepening in thick lines of concern. "Ah you are awake, finally. Sketch and Anders have done well." 

A large snort echoes across the room as Melina tries to sit up in bed, a pounding ache settling behind her eyes. "Thank you, Commander Andras," she replies. She looks around, and sees only the two fellow mages in the room. "And thank you both, as well," she adds, dipping her head in their direction.

She can feel Faith flickering inside her; injured, scared. She quiets it with her mind as Anders scowls at her. "Don't you have something else to say?" he asks, eyes narrowed in a glare.

Her cheeks flush red at his question. "I... I..."

Danette shrugs. "It hardly matters. Sketch has promised me you are no abomination, and Anders confirmed it. There is no corruption therefor you are no threat. The Wardens will keep your secret, if you keep one for us."

Melina bites her lip. She had promised Alistair to withhold nothing she finds. "What is it?" she asks, guilt already weighing her down.

The Commander rests a hand on Melina's shoulder. "Sketch will show you The Joining ritual. I need to recruit more Wardens, but I need mages to make it work and mine, mine are all dead. So I've taught it to Sketch while you were sleeping and he shall teach it to you."

Melina breathes a sigh of relief. Alistair already knew the Joining. "I will do my best, Commander," she replies.

Danette nods her head, motioning for Sketch to follow her. "I shall leave you to rest for awhile longer. When you are well, find me. We have a visitor." The door clicks behind them, echoing loudly in the room. Anders continues to glare at her, his anger not hidden now.

"You.. you self righteous bitch," he growls. "All this time you preach on and on about how the templars are needed because magic is soooo dangerous and you've bonded with a bloody spirit!"

Melina frowns, meeting his gaze. "It's a faith spirit. They're... They're the helpful kind," she replies, though doubt wiggles into her thoughts.

Anders rolls his eyes. "I know that, maybe even better than you, but that's not the point. How many people have you condemned only to break the rules yourself? Or is it only alright when you're the one breaking them?"

"I didn't condemn you," she reminds him.

"Oh, yes, I remember. I also remember Jowan was the one who wanted me to be free, not you." His tone is snide and angry, each word a dagger to her heart.

Melina bows her head, hiding her face with her hair. "I know. And I'm sorry."

Anders snorts in return, a soft clomping of his boots coming nearer. She glances up, meeting his eyes. "That's half the problem, Mels. You're always saying you're sorry for something that I wonder if you mean it. Or if it's just a defense mechanism for when things get too hard for you."

Her eyes widen as he walks away, heart beating like war drums beneath her breasts. The door slams shut behind him and the dam inside her breaks.

_"I'm sorry, my little dove," her mother whispers as the templars take her away. "I'm sorry."_

Tears prick the corner of her eyes, stinging against the cuts on her face as they pour down her cheeks. "I'm sorry, mother," she whispers, heaving sobs making her whole body shake. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

The door creaks open. "Melina?" a voice asks, and her heart cracks further at the familiarity. 

"I'm sorry," is all she can whisper as she continues to cry. 

Alistair walks over to her, wrapping his arounds around her shaking form and pressing his chin atop her head. "Hey now, it's alright. Let it all out," he whispers into her hair.

She clings to him as she cries, snot and tears mingling on her face. She's not even sure why she's crying, just that she needs it. She's tired, and alone, and Vigil's Keep isn't home. It doesn't have the safety of Kinloch Hold or the warmth of the Denerim palace. She sobs into the King's tightly pressed silk shirt, staining it with her pain, and clings to the last friend she has.

 

__

 


	4. Act One: Chapter Four

The thick wool of her faded pink dress is itchy against her skin. The lace collar is closed tight against her throat. She reaches a hand up to touch her long curls, carefully done into a simple knot atop her head. She sighs, glancing around at the strange statues and floating books. Muted tones of reds and blues colour the bindings. Words scribbled hastily in a language she doesn't know slink across the covers, slithering and moving as if the words themselves have a will. A dense green fog clings to her boots.

"Demon, I know you're here," Melina calls out, frowning. "Wherever "here" is," she adds, grumbling. 

A hissing sound echoes around her. "Fine, fine. _Izanami_ , I know you're here," she amends reluctantly. 

A soft chuckle emanates throughout the room. Izanami appears in a flash of smoke, her dress deep purple and equally as puffy and overdone.  Her pale blue skin has a slight green hint to it as she gives a mock bow, lips curling into a smirk. "Greetings, mortal. Welcome to my lair."

Melina raises an eyebrow, looking around the tiny room. The walls shift and bend, seeming to buckle under invisible weight only to shift back to 'normal' walls again. Faces form in the wood work, screaming in eternal agony before fading back into the grooves of the wooden beams. She grabs a book floating through the air. The deep blue cover is emblazoned with the Grey Warden griffon. Melina crinkles her nose at the blood stains before letting it loose to fly again.

"What a Maker forsaken lair you have," she replies. She looks down at her dress, all frills and lace and more tulle than any dress should have. "What am I wearing?" she asks, a frown marking her face.

Izanami grins, a wicked flashing of teeth. "Something from an era long before you were born, mortal. Ah, how I do miss the Exalted Age. The mortals of that time had a wonderful fashion sense."

Melina tries not to roll her eyes as she glares at Izanami. "It's stuffy," she says. "And hot."

The demon shrugs. "Then **will** it to be cooler." She waves a hand and a black chess board appears on a table, complete with glowing pieces in strange shapes. Melina frowns, bending to examine them. They're not the knights and horses she's used to, but strange and terrifying creatures that constantly change shape. "You're no choice spirit, you're a demon of chaos," she remarks, eyes starting to hurt from the constant changes.

Izanami laughs, throwing her head back. "You do amuse me, mortal. A demon of chaos, am I? Hardly." She motions to a chair. "Please, have a seat."

The pieces are prearranged on the board. There's no tiny squares to to show where each piece can be placed, just a shiny black surface that gleams with polish. Five pieces glow bright yellow, like the colour of a cat's eyes in the middle of the night. The rest are white, eery, and cover more of the board. "I'm to play yellow?" she asks with another sigh. "How am I to win a game when it's already stacked against me?"

Izanami doesn't answer, just takes a seat and waits, staring at the pieces with an intense expression of concentration. "Of course you're not going to answer that," Melina grumps as she struggles with sitting in her voluminous dress. She opens her mouth to ask what the demon wants this time, and closes it before the question is formed. She knows all too well that Izanami only answers in riddles and half truths. 

The demon's long, spindly fingers wrap around what looks like a mutated griffon and moves it next to one of Melina's pieces. "Your templar used to play this with you, yes? At Kinloch Hold, when still you struggled with control."

Memories flash in Melina's mind. Cullen's kind face, brows furrowed in concentration. The candlelight catching the hints of auburn in his blond curls. She never was very good at the game, but chess had strengthened their friendship.  Pain pricks at her heart. She misses her friend, even more than she regrets losing his love. She clears her throat and looks up at Iznami's face.

"Yes, we used to play until blood mages and demons tortured him into hating mages," she replies, voice cold.

Izanami snorts, shaking her head. "Your move," she says. "And no demon tortured your pet templar by their own will. Your wretched mages, in their desperation, forced my brethren into changing their purpose."

Melina blinks, thrown by the underlying anger in Izanami's voice. "So you're saying the demons were innocent?" she asks, incredulous at the claim. She shakes her head in disbelief as she absently moves one of pieces to a random place on the board.

Golden eyes flash furiously. "I am saying that spirits do not usually wish ill on you mortals. They were summoned, ripped away from their homes, and anger and hatred forced into their very beings until they morphed into the demons he saw. They felt pain, too, mortal." Izanami glances at the board, a soft sigh escaping her deep purple lips. "That was an ill-thought out move. You must try harder to win at The Game. Your friendship with the King of Ferelden is only the start."

Melina frowns. "I don't believe you," she says. Images of Alistair flicker through her mind as she recalls their meeting yesterday. His kind words and simple jokes had reminded her how to smile and they had parted ways both feeling a little better than they had before. She wishes he could have stayed, to help with the new darkspawn problem, but trouble in the Bannorn called him far away.

"Believe? Believe what? That there's more to demons and spirits than your precious Chantry teaches you or that you must try hard to win?"

Melina stands up. "Both. And I'm half sick of your lies and your riddles."

"Only half?"

Melina narrows her eyes. "I'm leaving," she says, voice firm. "I'm going to wake up now, and I want you to stop pestering me everytime I sleep."

Izanami waves a hand at her, a smile forming. "I am only here to teach you. When you're ready to learn more, call for me, and I shall return. You'll need my guidance, if your life takes the path that I predict."

The Fade dwindles away as the demon's words echo in her mind. She wakes on the cold, hard ground, her tent barely blocking the early morning sun. She clutches her robes, the loose, soft fabric a comfort after the strange garb she wore in her dream. "Maker guide me," she whispers.

She can smell the warm, fragrant scent of beans with brown sugar and spices cooking over a low fire. She crawls out from her tent, eyes searching for Dane. She spots the hound over by a tree, relieving himself, and shakes her head.

Danette crinkles her nose as she watches Nathaniel cooking. "Oh my, what is that awful smell?"

Melina chuckles as the archer glowers. "Beans," he replies shortly. 

The Warden Commander snorts. "A Fereldan delicacy, no doubt. Delightful, truly." She glances at Sketch. "Love, make note. I resent the First Warden sending me to this... brown and bland country. Do remind me to tell him so. Also, we simply must requisition better food."

Sketch rolls his eyes. "Right. Resentment and better food. I'm sure your First Warden will put that at the top of his priority list, Dani. Better yet, you can tell that fussbudget Woolsey and see if she's willing to get your some of that overdressed Orlesian food of yours."

"It's not overdressed, it's elegant. Food is a work of art. This-" Dani replies, gesturing at the beans, "is not art. It's barely even food," she grumbles.

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow as he eats. "I've eaten Orlesian food before. It's... small. I was still hungry even after a five course meal."

Dani scoffs at this, poking at the beans dubiously with her spoon. "Food should not come in such large portions."

"It was also very grey," Nathaniel adds.

"Oh! You must have had pâté de foie gras. It's delicious," Dani replies as she lifts a spoonful of beans to her nose and sniffs. "Ugh."

Nathaniel narrows his grey eyes. "Oh, go soak your head. Bloody Orlesians. Father always said you lot were too busy playing The Game to know what was good."

Melina smiles. "I think the beans turned out nicely, Nathaniel," she says. She pauses as she takes in his words. The Game.  _You must try harder to win at The Game._

He grunts in reply, grabbing his pack. "Thank you, my lady."

"I am no lady, just a mage," she replies absentmindedly. Her thoughts are still centered on Izanami, and whatever  _The Game_ is.

He reaches a hand down toward her, a smirk teasing the edges of his lips. "I think you're a lovely woman, and due some respect. So I call you a lady. Mage or no."

Danette laughs. "Well,  does this mean you no longer wish to kill us all, Howe?"

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow as he helps Melina to her feet. "I never wanted to kill everyone. Just the Wardens. That desire hasn't changed," he replies with a shrug. 

His grief smacks into Melina, taking her breath away with it's intensity. Rendon Howe was a terrible man with a cruel heart. She had felt that in him when they'd met. But she senses none of that darkness in Nathaniel, only an anguish so real and so deep that it staggers her. "You loved your father very much," she whispers.

His cold grey eyes turn to her, narrowed with hate. "Shut up," he says, voice curt, a stark contrast to the joking and flirtatious tone he'd had only moments ago.

Danette sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Right. Let us kill each other later, yes? Today we arrive in Amaranthine to see what has become of dear Kristoff."

Sketch chuckles as he straps his staff to his back. "Dear Kristoff, is it? Should I be jealous, Dani?"

She grins, pressing a kiss against his neck. "Never. The old fool is too devoted to that simple wife of his, anyway."

Sketch lets out a mock sigh as he winks at Melina. "Is that the only thing keeping you from leaping into his arms? Whatever shall I do?"

Danette lets out a low laugh, tapping her finger against the tip of Sketch's nose. "No need to shy away from the truth, love. It is also your skill in bed that keeps me here."

Melina's cheeks turn bright red as embarrassment floods her. "Maker's breath," she says, crossing her heart.

"Ugh," Nathaniel groans. "Let's just... get to Amaranthine and be done with it." He pauses for a moment, looking at the distant outline of the city along the horizon. "They used to display the heads of traitors over the main gate. I suppose my father is lucky his didn't end up there."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to make some stuff up. The dresses are based on a Victorian age style, but I'm headcanoning that this was the fashion at some point during the Exalted Age, for reasons.


	5. Act One: Chapter Five

Melina takes a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent of saltwater and fish. Guards stand watch on every corner, silver armour glinting in the early morning sunlight. Their eyes are dull and listless, barely paying attention to the going ons around them. Merchants hawk their wares, shouting out over the din of the people bustling about. She follows behind Danette, trying not to look wide eyed at everything she sees. Nathaniel cocks an eyebrow at her, a smirk forming on his face dimpled face.

"You act as if you've never seen a city before. Didn't you come from the King's palace in Denerim?" he asks, long brown hair blowing in the slight breeze.

Melina blushes but offers him a small smile. "I suppose I did. But before the Blight, I can't remember being anywhere other than Kinloch Hold. My family comes from Kirkwall, however. I hear they have an estate, but I can scarce remember my time there."

"Your last name is Amell, isn't it? I've heard of the Amells of Kirkwall. Fell out of favour in the past few years, I think," he replies.

Faded memories of her mother and an older brother entering her mind. She can see her mother the most clearly; her long silvery blonde hair done up in an elegant knot. Her eyes were blue, like sapphires, and she always smelled like honey. She can see her, still, curtsying to greet their guests. "I was only five when I left. I... often wonder after mother, and father. I hope they're doing well, and that they don't miss me."

Nathaniel blinks at her as they come upon The Crown and Lion. She can heard bardic music floating from inside as the door swings open, the smell of spirits wafting out. "You hope they _don't_ miss you?" he asks, clearly confused.

Melina nods, stepping into the warm tavern. "Missing someone hurts. I don't want my family to hurt."

He chuckles softly behind her. "You are a noble woman, indeed, mi'lady," he whispers.

They walk through the crowded tavern until they get to the dwarven bar keep. Melina can barely hear Danette over the sound of the elven bard, singing above them. Nathaniel hands her a tall mug of something. The dark brown liquid has tiny specks of spices floating around and smells warm and rich.

"It's spiced rum," he says.

She takes a slow sip of the liquid before sputtering and coughing. "It- it burns," she exclaims, red faced.

Nathaniel laughs, clapping her on the shoulder. "That's how you know it's good."

The upbeat tune catches her attention and she finds herself swaying along to the music. The words are humorous and light, about a rogue stealing from the rich. 'The Dark Wolf sings high and the Dark Wolf sings low," the bard sings, and the name catches Meline's attention.

Danette turns to her, a small frown turning the corners of her lips down. 

"His room is upstairs, but they haven't seen him in weeks," she says. "I do not like this. Kristoff was always cautious." 

Melina looks up to the stairwell. "Perhaps he left something behind? Should we search?"

 _A voice, sudden and abrupt, booms in her ear. **"I'm here, pretty mortal. Come find me."**_ A cold shiver runs down her spine.

Danette sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose again. "Alright. Sketch and I are going to have a look around his room. You, Howe," she says, pressing her finger against Nathaniel's chest. "You said your sister was here? Go and find her, then. You may meet us at the Chantry when you are through. Take Amell with you."

Nathaniel's shock hits Melina solidly in the chest, followed by bitter suspicion. Melina frowns. "Pardon, Warden-Commander, but I was assigned to follow the Wardens."

Nathaniel grunts. "And you will be. You'll follow me, because apparently I need a babysitter to visit my own bloody sister."

Danette shrugs, full lips quirking into a smirk. "You should be grateful I allow someone who wishes me dead to leave my sight at all," she reminds him.

He lets out a short laugh, offering his arm to Melina. "Fair enough," he agrees. "Fine, you lot have fun."

Melina hesitantly takes his arm, trying not to show her fear. She knows Izanami is near, no other demon sounds the same as she. She tries not to picture Wynne's wrinkled face in her mind, her sad blue eyes turning to glowing golden orbs. The guilt weighs heavily on her shoulders, pulling her down stronger than gravity. 

Sketch frowns, placing a hand on the small of Danette's back and whispering in her ear. Melina can feel a clear sense of anxiety from the elf, and a sense of love and adoration bordering on need that overwhelms her. "We should be more careful, Danny. I can't lose you like I lost Tug. Please," he implores. 

She kisses the tip of his nose, eyes crinkling at the corners. Melina can't hear her response as her and Nathaniel walk away, the crowded tavern drowning out the Warden Commander's words. The sun is still bright, and her eyes water instantly as they step outside. Nathaniel's body is tense as they walk along the congested streets of Amaranthine in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

A templar with reddish blonde hair stares at her with suspicion and she's hit with memories of Cullen. When she closes her eyes at night, before she's able to fall asleep, she can see his face, contorted in pain as he sits trapped by demons in Kinloch Hold. Tears and blood streak down the hard lines of his face. He pleads, voice wavering, for the nightmares to stop. She never sees their happy times spent in the circle library, playing games of chess and both blushing like the children they were. The most present memories she has are of his anger, his fear, and his pain. 

Every morning when she wakes up, she prays to the Maker and His bride. She prays first for Cullen, to be released from the metaphorical demons haunting him. She prays for her mother, who had been so sad to see her daughter be taken away. She prays that Rivka has forgiven her husband for turning their child into the templars. She prays for Alistair, lonely despite his marriage. She prays for Jalyn, far away, and Maroth, too. And at the end, when she's gone through the list of all those she loves most, she sends a small, selfish prayer for herself, to be forgiven for her unforgivable sin.

"Delilah? Is that... really you?" Nathaniel asks.

A woman with short brown hair turns, eyes widening in surprise. "Nathaniel! I had feared the worst," she says, pulling him in for a hug.  She holds him close, knuckles turning white for how hard she's holding him. "Thank the Maker," she breathes.

"Times must have been hard, Delilah. But you can do better than... this," he says, looking around at the tiny market stall with a curled lip. "Come back to the estate until we find somewhere else."

Delilah raises an eyebrow at him. "What?" she asks, laughing. "Oh, Nathaniel. I didn't marry Albert out of desperation- I adore him. We're to have a child soon," she says, placing a small hand across her belly.

Nathaniel's shock is clear in his expression. "But-"

His sister takes his arm, winking at Melina. "Come. Our home is nearby and Tan can watch the stall. I'll fix us a nice pot of tea, and we'll have a good chat about what's been happening since you left for Free Marches. And you can tell me about your pretty friend here."


	6. Act One: Chapter Six

Water soaks through her soft leather boots. She crinkles her nose at the pungent odor of rotten eggs that wafts up from the marsh waters. Wolves howl in the distance and Melina can feel the ebb and flow of the Fade trickling through. She wishes that Danette had left her back at Vigil's Keep with Nathaniel, instead of bringing her out into this wet, dark place. "We should be cautious here," she whispers to Danette. 

 _What you call the fade will linger where it should not. Be wary, mortal._ Izanami's warning rings fresh in her ears, even long after they've left Amaranthine. She had been near the Chantry, still inhabiting Wynne's body. Try as she might, Melina still can't understand why the demon is so interested in mortal affairs. She can go anywhere in Thedas. And instead, she's journeying to Cumberland. To attend of College of Magi, where templars are sure to be present.

Faith chirps in her mind, a soft lilting presence. Is... Is it possible there is more of Wynne left than Izanami let on? Is that why the demon still hounds her every time she closes her eyes? Melina purses her lips, trying to remember what that old book she had found had said on demons. She can still remember finding it, buried under the snow, in Haven. Its leather bound cover had been embossed with a Chantry symbol, or one that looked like it anyway. _A spirit shifts to a demonic state at which hour did deny its purpose._ Which makes no more sense to her now than it did a year ago. 

A soft smile crosses her face as she recalls Alistair telling her to keep it. Mages aren't really allowed to own possessions, and that old, worn book was her first. She had poured over it for hours by the camp firelight that night, hair twisted into a messy knot atop her head. It had been full of information on magic, surprisingly. Blasphemous information. She had almost stopped reading it for fear the Maker would strike her down where she sat but... She was more afraid of failing her companions at the time than the Maker's wrath.

And so she had studied the tome, asking Morrigan for help when she needed it. Morrigan had been interested, at first, but quickly scoffed at it. _"That book is full of basic information. Do they not teach you this at your circles? Hmm. 'Tis a good thing my mother raised me, then."_ But it wasn't very basic to Melina.

A wolf howls in the distance, startling Melina out of her thoughts. Shadows twist and form around them, grotesque shapes that seem half wolf and half man. Her eyes widen as the fear takes hold, breath coming in short bursts. Their fur is patchy and their skin rotting, eyes rolling madly in their skulls. 

Danette bares her teeth at them. "Blight werewolves? What fun," she quips, voice a low, baritone growl. 

Sketch rolls his eyes behind her, hands twisting and turning in strange patterns as he summons skeletons from the ground. "Yes, 'fun'. Dani, we really need to work on your idea of fun," he replies, but there's a twinkle in his eyes that contrasts with his dry tone. 

Danette lunges at the nearest werewolf, laughter bubbling from her throat. "I bet our enemies agree, my love." 

Anders stares, mouth agape, for a brief moment before summoning a barrier spell. "I don't remember her being this crazy," he mutters. 

Melina focuses on healing spells and defensive magic to bolster the rogue's speed. She frowns after the battle is over, looking up at Anders. "How do you know her?" she asks as they wade through the bog, just out of earshot of the Warden Commander and her lover.

A small smile curves his lips. "Dani? Met her on one of my escape attempts. When I was hiding at the Pearl. She's... fun," he says, chuckling.

Melina's cheeks heat up as he winks at her, making his meaning clear on just what kind of 'fun' he found the Commander. "But... what of Sketch?" she wonders, confused. She had felt how much the Warden loved him, and she can't imagine them being separated. Perhaps it was before Danette had met Sketch?

Anders laughs, a strange sound to be heard in such a gloomy place. "Sketch? He was fun, too. Taught me a nice little lightening trick."

"He... what?" she asks. "How did.... Oh. OH. Maker's breath," she whispers as the figures out what he meant. She crosses her heart, her entire face red hot.

"What, are you afraid the Maker will strike us all down for such a scandalous thing?" he teases. "I think He has more important matters to concern Himself with. Like abominations," he adds pointidly. 

Melina hangs her head, shame like a hot, scalding fire inside her. "I know," she whispers, almost too soft for him to hear. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound as if I were judging you. I... I..."

"I know," Anders interrupts. "You've always been that way. Remember that time you caught Karl and I making out?" he asks, winking at her again. "Ah, what fun times in the circle."

The images of Anders entwined with the other, slightly older, boy causes her blush to deepen. She takes a deep breath and forces a smile. "Karl was nice. Maybe not at that moment," she says, remembering the way he had glared at her, "but he helped me with my studies. I remember he excelled in elemental magic, like Jalyn."

He nods as another group of blighted werewolves attack. He summons a fireball, throwing it at the howling beasts and Melina enhances it, making the flames grow hotter and brighter as it collides. "I miss him," he admits over the roar of battle.

Melina conjures her mana, coating Danette's weapon with ice. "Then why did you leave?" she asks.

She dodges a claw from one beast only to have another hit her from behind. It pins her to the ground, claws ripping at her flesh as she screams in pain. White hot agony shoots through her body, as if her very insides are on fire. She grabs a small dagger from her breasts, another gift from Alistair, and stabs at the werewolf's chest. It howls but continues ripping into her. Tears and blood stream down her face as she stabs at the creature with her little dagger until she hits something vital. The beast collapses on top of her, dead weight pinning her down. She struggles to breath, lungs gasping for air. 

"You alright there, Mels?" Anders asks, shoving the beast off her. 

She takes in slow, deep breaths trying to sit up. She cries out as pain shatters her concentration. "I think I broke a few ribs," she admits, trying to summon her healing magic.

Anders shakes his head, placing a large hand on top of her head and ruffling her curls. "Let me do that," he says. "A healer shouldn't heal themselves unless they have to."

A warmth floods her body as he heals her, mending the broken bones and bruised flesh with a golden hue surrounding his body. "Thank you, Anders," she replies.

He smiles at her, lending a hand to help her to her feet. "Don't mention it," he says. His smile slips into a frown. "Don't think I've forgiven your whole hypocrisy with your little spirit, though," he warns her.

Danette waves them over to her, a small camp at her feet. "I do believe we are close to finding Kristoff. I do hope he won't be too put off by his former protégé being the one to rescue him," she says, glee colouring her tone. "The fire is still warm. Bien."  

Sketch squats down, sniffing the air around the fire. "Seems a shame to let such a lovely camp go to waste. Perhaps we should eat." 

Danette grins, eyes twinkling. "I am famished, but not for food, my love," she replies.

Anders lets out a loud laugh that echoes strangely in the marsh. "You are as insatiable as ever, Dani," he says. 

She winks at him, dark blue eyes glittering in the dark. "Of course, mon amie. But alas, we have Warden business to attend to. My darkspawn senses are tingling and I feel as if we are being watched."

Melina nods in agreement, the hairs on the back of neck raising. "I don't like it here," she whispers. "There is... something. Watching. Waiting. Something I've never felt before. Darkspawn, but it feels like other. Something... new?"

Anders shrugs. "Feels normal to me. Corrupted, wrong, but normal. But then, I've not fought many of the beasties."

Danette frowns, coming up to Melina and narrowing her eyes. Melina shifts, uncomfortable under the Commander's heavy gaze. "New? New as in 'talking darkspawn' new, or something else, magelet?"

Melina closes her eyes, trying to focus on the red-tinged wrongness in her mind's perception. "Something... else. Small and skittering in the darkness...." She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. "I'm sorry, I can't sense anything else."

"That... is not an empathic power," Anders says, squinting at her. "Result of the spirit, maybe?"

Her heartbeat quickens, pounding loudly in her ears. "It's... It's not that!" she exclaims, fear making her reach out and clutch Anders' robes. "I'm not an abomination," she says, but it sounds like a plea. 

A cold wash of magic floods her system. She shivers, turning toward Sketch. "What did you do?" she asks.

"I checked for signs of corruption," he replies, standing in front of Danette. "You're safe. Somehow." He frowns, peering closely at her. "I wasn't aware a mage could bind with a spirit and stay pure. Strange."

Danette wraps an arm around Sketch's waist. "Strange, indeed. But figuring out the mystery of Amell is one we shall have to solve later. I am more concerned with this new threat she senses." She meets Melina's eyes. "Merci, for your help," she says.

Melina follows close behind Danette, trying to ignore the curious stares of Anders as they continue their way through the Blackmarsh. A cold chill has settled itself in her bones. She pulls her worn, tattered shawl closer, trying to draw in some warmth from the hole-filled fabric. Anders' words echo in her mind. She's always been able to sense emotions, it's a part of being an empath as natural to her as breathing. But this is something else. She isn't sensing the darkspawn's emotions, she's sensing their presence, their self. When did that start? Was it really after Faith had found her, rescued her? Dark thoughts chase each other in her mind, swirling chaos that taints her magic as they battle another pack of werewolves.

_Am I really an abomination?_


	7. Act One: Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you CherryJanie for the help with French words! Check out her beautiful artwork on deviantart.

Melina shrinks back in fear as strange, mutated forms burst forth from rotting cocoons. Their chittering fills the air as nausea tears at her stomach. Their wrongness strikes against her, pulling at her until tears wet her cheeks. The darkspawn have always felt unnatural, twisted and malformed, but these? These... creatures were like a black void in her mind, endless screaming echoing in her head as they scurry on the ground. 

She forms a barrier glyph to knock them back, swallowing past her terror. Sweat drips down the back of her neck and a swarm of bugs flock around her, biting and buzzing now that she's standing still in this wet marshland. Melina grits her teeth, brow furrowed, and lets a small, contained fire grow on the tip of staff. She adds a few herbs to it, and the resulting smoke drives away the bugs so that she's free to fight the new darkspawn.

Her eyes follow Danette's movements as the rogue darts around the battle zone, piercing the creatures with her blades. Melina whispers quickly under her breath, enhancing the Commander's speed and fortitude. She doesn't focus on Sketch or Anders, trusting her fellow mages to cast their spells. 

Something pulls on her robes from behind, tugging and ripping at the fabric. She spins around, almost losing her balance, and wallops the creature with her staff. It hisses at her, its unholy face twisted into a snarl. She keeps whacking it with her staff until it's nothing more than a lump of meat and a bloodstain on the ground. Her breath comes in short gasps as she stands there, hands on her knees, and sweat pouring from her brow.

She spins around again when she feels a hand on her shoulder, eyes wide and staff held at the ready to smash another creature into tiny bits.

"Woah there, easy magelet," Danette says, a smirk twisting her lips. "I'm not one of the... whatever the void these things are."

Melina lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank the Maker it's over," she whispers, crossing her heart. "You... do not know what they are?" she asks the Commander. If the Wardens don't even know what they are.... The thought of what that could mean makes her shiver, despite the heat of the bog. "Maker save us all."

Anders grunts, handing her a kerchief. "Here, you've got blood on your cheeks. Doesn't look right."

Melina starts to curtsy before stopping, remembering how uncomfortable it made her fellow healer. "Thank you, Anders," she replies, taking the soft but worn cloth from him. She wipes the blood from her face as best she can before sighing again. She wishes Alistair had sent someone else to watch over the Wardens. Anyone but her. 

She misses the palace estate in Denerim. She misses the long, warm summer days spent reading in the Royal Library. The way the big, soft chairs enveloped her with their cushions.  She misses watching the new born kittens playing in warm patches of sunlight at her feet. Her heart aches to spend another evening having a quiet meal with Alistair, or even talking with Anora. She never thought she'd become friends with the Queen, but underneath the strong ambition and ruthless political maneuverings, was a very lonely, and passionate, woman. In the short time Melina had spent there, she'd begun to earn Anora's trust, and was looking forward to winning her friendship.

Melina had never imagined she'd find any place that felt like home the way Kinloch Hold had. And she still misses that drafty old tower. But Denerim was warm, and inviting. It had been home, before Alistair sent her to Amaranthine.

A scream pierces the air, startling Melina from her reminiscing. Danette races forward, fear and grief thundering through the air.  She collapses to her knees as she reaches a body covered in silver and blue armour. 

"No, mon frère, no, no, no you cannot be dead. Maker, please, you cannot...," Danette's words fade away as her head turns toward Melina and Anders. "You, you are both healers. You must heal him, quickly."

Melina's eyes do a slow blink as she looks down at the corpse of what must be Kristoff. There is no life spark still in his body, nothing for her magic to grab a hold of and make grow. She turns to Anders, his face twisted into a mask of confusion.

She sighs, kneeling down beside Danette. "I am sorry, Warden-Commander. We cannot heal the dead," she says, voice soft. She puts a hand on Danette's shoulder but the warden growls low in her throat and grabs her robes in her fists.

"Then use blood magic," she all but screams. "I don't care what magic you use, but bring him back!"

Melina's eyes widen as Danette's desperation hits her, almost knocking her back. "I am so sorry," she replies. "I do not know blood magic and would not use it, even if I did. And necromancy, even if I held that power, would only animate his body. It would not return his soul."

Danette shoves her away, shaking her head back and forth in rapid succession. "No, mon frère, I came too late. I failed, Maker, I... I... " Her words trail off again and she lets out a ragged scream that seems to shake the night. "You saved me, and I could not repay that debt," she whispers, tears rolling down her face.

Sketch reaches out a hand toward her, brows furrowed with concern. "Dani," he whispers, voice softer than she's ever heard it. 

Body trembling, Danette reaches out, grasping her lover's hand so tightly her knuckles pale. He pulls her up, holding her tight as her body is wracked with sobs. "This is why you failed at The Game," he softly chides her. "You let your emotions get the better of you."

A voice comes from the shadows as that unnatural presence grows stronger. "The Mother, she is not permitting you to further **his** plan, whether this you know or not. So she is sending you a gift."

Melina spins around, meeting the eyes of another talking darkspawn. She raises her staff but it's too late. The fade forms around her, bright and green and ghostly real. Pain, white hot and sharp, splinters through her entire body as she's ripped from the waking world and thrown into the Fade, breath coming in short, laboured gasps. No, no... not again, she doesn't want to go back to the Fade, like this. Not like this. _No more choices, **please**._


	8. Act One: Chapter Eight

The roaring crash of waves echoes in her mind. Melina grips her head in her hands, knees pressed against an ever shifting ground. Her eyes are closed tight and she shakes her head back and forth, trying with all her will to block out the sounds of the Fade. She doesn't want to be here. Why does fighting darkspawn always lead to this? 

She whispers the Chant, fingers tangled in her own curls. "The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next. For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water. As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light. The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, and she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."

The words tumble from her lips in a rush instead of the pretty song Andraste had intended. She repeats them, over and over, each word blurring into the next until she's certain the Chant would be unrecognizable even to the most devout Andrastian. Fear claws at her mind, ripping the last shreds of sanity from her fragile grasp. 

 _I_ _don't want this I don't want this **I don't want this**_

Her eyes fly open as a hand collides with her face, a sharp stinging pain settling into her cheek. She looks up into Danette's eyes, tears caught on her lashes. Danette frowns at her, but holds out her hand to help her to her feet. "Come now, magelet, now is hardly the time for _you_ to fall apart," she says, tone weary.

A voice echos in her mind, ancient and sultry all at once.  _"Do not fear, mortal. I will keep you safe."_

Melina frowns as she recognizes Izanami's voice.  _I don't need your protection, **demon,**_ she thinks furiously. The demon chuckles in response but withdraws her presence. Melina gets to her feet, a sudden streak of stubbornness straightening her spine as she meets the elven Warden Commander's gaze.

"My apologizes," she says, tightening her jaw. "I was not prepared to be so suddenly thrust back to this place. It won't happen again."

Danetta raises an eyebrow before letting her hand drop back to her side, untouched. "That is good to hear, I suppose," she replies. A heavy sigh follows her words as she glances around at the Fade, the new strange darkspawn corpses littered at her feet.

A small frown tugs the corners of Melina's lips further down as she stares at them. Anders lets out a snort, eyes rolling as he answers her unasked question. "While you were having a meltdown, we fought what they're calling "the children"." He shivers as he nudges a corpse with his toe. "A face only a mother can love," he mumbles. 

Danetta lets out a sudden burst of laughter. "A mother...," she replies between bursts of laughter. "Oh, if you only knew, mon ami." Her expression suddenly sobers, eyes losing their twinkle. "Actually, you will soon enough. But that lesson is for another time, and for Warden ears alone." A heavy sigh escapes her painted lips. "Come, you mages should know how to navigate this place, yes?"

Sketch looks up at them from his position on the ground, kneeling next to one of the children. "No one _navigates_ the fade, Dani, except Dreamers and those who live here."

"Demons," Danette replies, lip curling.

Sketch shrugs, turning back to the corpse and poking it with his staff. "And spirits. If we're lucky, we'll find more spirits than demons. Watch yourself though, they're easily influenced by mortals." 

Melina can feel Anders' gaze on her, and shifts from foot to foot, hands twisting in the fabric of her robes. He clears his throat before hitting her with a sudden blast of ice magic that knocks her off her feet.

Her eyes widen as she stares up at him, tears already welling in her eyes. "Wh- Why?" she asks, staring up at him through her curls.

He shrugs, offering her a hand. "A demon would have defended itself. Just checking, you know."

Sketch cocks a brow as she gets to her feet. She narrows her eyes at Anders, her long white blonde hair in a tangled frizzy mess around her face, and does her best to look annoyed.

"You are working on the assumption that she isn't possessed by a particularly clever demon?" Sketch asks, stroking his chin. "Good idea, if a bad execution."

Melina juts out her chin. "I am  _not_ a demon," she says, though she can hear a small thread of her own uncertainty creep through. "And that really hurt."

Danette looks around at the changing sky. "I never accepted to find myself here. Ah well. Perhaps I will yet have a chance to avenge his death," she says, and Melina can still feel her grief, a bitter thing against her mind. "To that end, we should not dally here. Besides, even in the Fade these corpses seem to stink."

Melina follows behind her, eying Anders warily as she walks. She's soon distracted though; the Fade has always piqued her curiosity. Every wisp, every strange creature, makes her turn her head to inspect it further. She smiles as she remembers her Harrowing and the creature of sloth who had posed riddles for her. It's strange to think of now, the difference between the two sloth demons she's encountered in her lifetime. The first had been shaped like a bear with protruding spikes and she's embarrassed to think of how badly she had wanted to pet the creature. But she had sensed no malice from it, no desire to possess and corrupt and kill. And then there had been the one who had trapped her and her friends in the Fade during the Blight. She shivers even now thinking of the way it had felt against her mind- corrupted and broken and somehow wrong, like he was meant to be something other but somehow became this, instead.

She pauses mid step as the realization hits her. Is that what Izanami meant when she had told her that demons were just spirits who had been turned from their purpose? The idea that the choice demon might be right shakes her, making the world seem to spin as she tries to process it. IF she was right about this, what else had she been right about? 

A chuckling sound echos in her mind and she narrows her eyes as she continues following her companions.  _Begone, demon or spirit or whatever you may be. I don't want you in my head anymore. Let me be._

The presence withdraws again, leaving her alone inside her head with just the spirit of Faith to tinkle merrily, like a bell ringing in tune to unheard music. Melina holds back a sigh, as a strange force brushes against her. "Careful, I sense a hole in the veil ahead. A small tear where the real world is slipping through," she says as she grabs Danette's arm gently.

Sketch nods his agreement. "Likely, whatever we do here will affect our world, too. Close a tear her, it starts the process for sealing the tear there."

Anders brings his staff out, brows furrowed. "This won't be an easy fight," he says, and there's a sound to his voice that reminds Melina of Jalyn, back in the early days of Kinloch Hold. "Why isn't it ever an easy fight?" he continues, tone shifting to light and vaguely amused.

His ever shifting moods confuse Melina, but she puts it out of her mind as a rage demon pops out of the ground in front of her, catching her robes on fire. She summons ice, but focuses her mind on warmth and turns it to water to put out the flames as she quickly backs away, going for distance for the battle. She forms a barrier glyph on the ground and then shoots ice pellets at the beast, cooling the fire in it's mind with calm thoughts of her own. She focuses on thinking of peace, and tranquility, and gentle emotions to calm the bitter rage the demon feels until it vanishes back into the ground.

Danette raises an eyebrow at her as the last of the demons give out their final roar before vanishing. "That felt different, what did you do, magelet?"

Melina shifts, meeting Anders' gaze. He blinks at her, mouth hanging open, before he replies. "She defeated it's rage. Spirit Healers are empaths, and some can use their empathic powers to fight against demons. It's rare though." He frowns, cocking his head. "Where did you learn that? They don't teach it at the circle."

"A friend I made during the Blight. She's an apostate, and she knows a lot of old magic. She gave me book," she replies, remembering Morrigan's scowling face all too clearly. "It had a small section on applying empathic abilities and incorporating them into spellwork. I- I hadn't tried it before."

Sketch whistles appreciatively. "Well done, I'd say. Keep up to good work, Amell." 

Melina drops a courtesy, nervous tension humming through her body at both the unexpected compliment and the application of new magic. She follows close behind as they continue making their way through the shifting roads of the Fade. Often times they're forced to double back due to unexpected dead ends or strange walls covered in archaic symbols popping out the ground like daisies, an ominous air flowing from them. Each time the Fade shifts Danette lets out a stream of curses in Orlesian, her accent thicker the angrier she becomes. 

"Please, help me! We have to hide," shouts a woman in tattered robes. Before anyone can respond, she turns and runs into a crypt and skeletons with dripping fangs throw themselves at Melina and her companions. It's an easy fight, however, breaking apart incorporeal bones.

Danette exchanges a glance with Sketch. "Another person trapped like us?" she inquires.

Melina shakes her head. "No. Not anymore. That was a demon. Maybe she was human, once. But the corruption is strong; she was changed a long time ago."

Anders nods his head in agreement. "She's right. That.... woman was filled with a hunger I've never felt before," he adds.

Danette sighs, her annoyance and anger flickering along Melina's skin like the beginnings of a wildfire. ""Évidemment que c'est un putain de démon," she exclaims, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Melina narrows her eyes at the door to the crypt. "We don't have to go through there, right? I don't like dark places."

"That's funny, coming from you," Anders replies with a snort. "Considering how much you love the circle."

She squares her shoulders and meets his gaze. "Kinloch Hold never felt dark to me," she says.

He raises an eyebrow, lips twisting into an easy smirk. "Really? Then how come you always call it 'Kinloch Hold' like you're still trying to pretend you live in some fancy noble estate instead of calling it the circle, like everyone else? Even the bloody templars refer to it as the circle."

The truth of his words hits her like thunder in the middle of a quiet night. Her head reels as she follows Danette and the others through the twisting catacombs, dark thoughts following her like a shadow. She fights the skeletons mindlessly, tossing spells with little thought as to what she's casting. She can see a faded memory of her mother's tear stained face as the templars came to her door again. 

_"Don't forget momma loves you, my little bird. You're an Amell, stand strong."_

The sound of the Hunger demon cackling breaks her from her thoughts; its glowing eyes making her shiver in the low light. "This mortal gave so much to slake her hunger. What will you give to feed mine?" It whispers the question, sliding tendrils through their minds.

In rush of memories, Melina can see her mother again. Her long, white blond hair is done into an elegant knot atop her head. Melina's heart aches as she sobs, tiny child hands reaching. "Momma, I want to stay with you," she cries, struggling against the templar's hold. "Please don't make me go."

She yearns to go home, to see her mother again. She wants to sit in her lap while Revka sings songs of shining heroes and daring fights. Tears wet her cheeks in the present, as the memories assault her. "Momma," she whispers, clutching her chest as the pain stabs through her over and over. 

A voice slithers in her mind. "Yisssss, mortal. Feed me your pain and anger. Succumb  to meeeeee."

Melina furrows her brow as she struggles against the demon's hold. She opens her mouth and sings, letting the words of Andraste pour through her in a shaky high pitched voice. The demon snarls, pushing back against the song. Melina raises her voice, singing louder as she focuses her mind on other memories, better memories.

She remembers sitting with Wynne as the elder mage braids her hair and tells her a story. She remembers candlelit chess with Cullen, and giggling with Jalyn in dark corners. She remembers Alistair's kindness and Maroth's humour. She takes every good memory she has and throws it at the demon, a mental battle of wills she refuses to lose. She pushes it into the demon, choking out the hate and desire and need with life and love and happy moments caught in time; all the while singing the Chant of Light like a verbal beacon of hope in the darkness of the Fade.

The shrill screech pierces the air. "You have released me, stranger," a voice whispers. A sense of relief and gratitude fills the air as white light bursts through the room, blinding her.

When the smoke clears, she meets Anders' thoughtful gaze from across the room. He nods at her, a quiet show of thanks and an apology left unspoken.

Danette grins, white teeth shining against her deep red lips. "Maybe you're more useful than I thought," she quips, and for the first time since finding Kristoff's corpse, the Warden's emotions aren't tinged with anger.

The rest of the journey is made in silence until they reach what looks like village. More tears in the Fade linger outside but their teamwork makes quick work of each one. Inside the village's gates ghosts of humans walk in a daze. They murmur strange things about children stolen in the night and a baroness with an iron-like grip of power. Some scream in pain as phantom images torment them, others plot rebellion in the shadows.

Melina's eyes widen as she watches a spirit pound against an ethereal gate in the center of the village, a combination of fear and curiosity making her hover like a fade wisp, wanting to approach it, but fearing possession. Villagers surround it, chanting for justice against the evils of the baroness. 

"The mansion will not protect you fiend," the spirit cries out in a deep, booming voice that echos in her head. "Come out and face your crimes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You have released me stranger" might be the first bit of in-game dialogue I've used for this fic? The hunger demon says it after defeating her. I always thought that curious, and especially so with all we've learned in DA:I about the nature of demons vs spirits and possession in general in all three games.


	9. Act One: Chapter Nine

Burning pain soars through her body. It feels as if flames lick against her skin, a clawing agony that steals her senses. Darkness covers her vision as she struggles to breath, a weight against her chest pressing the air from her lungs. A high pitched screaming echoes all around. 

_I will keep you safe_

Voices whisper through her mind as an electric pulse zaps her body. Where is she? Images flash before her eyes. The baroness laughing, her Orlesian accent thick and full of a mixture of condescension and corruption. The spirit of Justice, brandishing his sword as they all did battle against the demon the baroness had formed into over the years. And then the Fade was gone as they fell, down down down into their conscious selves. Corpses litter the ground as rain pounds against her skin.

"What? Where am I? What is happening?" A voice had asked, and Melina remembers her own fear to see a corpse not only possessed, but speaking with vocal cords that had been sliced open.

_I will keep..._

Sharp, stabbing pain pierces through her again, her breath coming in short gasps as she tries to scream. Where is she? Had the spirit inhabiting Kristoff's body done this? No. It had helped them defeat the baroness. Why does everything hurt? She lets out a ragged scream as she continues trying to piece together what had caused this agony to pulsate through her body.

_I will keep you..._

A deep, familiar voice booms in her head as a cooling hand touches her cheek. "What in the Maker's name happened?" he growls.

She tries to open her eyes, hand reaching out as the pain continues to wrack her body. "Na- Nathaniel?" She whispers the name, uncertainty clawing at her.

"I'm here, Mi'lady. You've been wounded, but it's alright. Anders will heal you," he says, tone gentler than she's heard it before. 

Her consciousness begins to fade, slipping from her grasp as she feels Anders magic overtake her, gentling pushing her toward sleep. The last thing she thinks of before she falls is Cullen, bringing his gentle face to mind as she drifts gives her peace,

 

~*~*~

 

The soft ruffling of fabric makes her open her eyes, blurry shapes swiftly passing by her bed. She feels the heat of Dane tucked in close to her side before she sees him, his greying muzzle laying across her belly. Anders rests, half asleep in a wingback chair.

Melina pushes herself up, every muscle in her body screaming in pain. "Maker's breath," she whispers, wincing as she settles back down against the pillows.

Anders jerks awake at the sound of her voice, eyes widening before he glares at her. "You should still be sleeping," he says, tone low and accusing.

She frowns, wiping the curls out of her face. "What happened?" she asks, ignoring his demand.

"You nearly died," he replies, brows furrowing as he grabs her wrist, fingers pressing against her pulse. "Your heart rate seems back to normal, so that's a positive sign. You don't remember what happened?"

She frowns, closing her eyes as she struggles to bring the memory back. She sees the baroness, large and frightening in the mortal world. A large purple hand reaching down toward her, squeezing her around the waist until her rips cracked under the pressure. The blinding pain as the demon slams her into the ground. 

"I remember the demon," she says. "You healed me?"

Anders shrugs. "Partly. Your spirit helped a lot. Friendly little wisp. Weak though. Justice... also lent his strength."

Melina's eyes widen as she remembers the spirit of Justice. "Kristoff...."

"Sketch and Danette are talking to him now. Glad you woke up, though. Our cheerful Warden Commander told me I was to head out at dawn's light with Nathaniel on a mission for her."

Melina nods, pushing herself up again. "I'll get my staff," she replies, but stops when she tries to swing her legs off the bed. She frowns, reaching a shaky hand down toward the immobile limbs. "Wha..." She can't finish her question as fear makes her pulse race.  _I can't move._ She tries with all her strength to will her legs to move, to twitch, to do something, anything; but nothing happens.

She looks up at Anders, tears already welling in her eyes. He meets her gaze steadily, a kind expression filling his eyes. "Don't worry, Mels. You'll be able to walk again. It just may take a lot of time, is all. I'll help you."

She swallows, nodding quickly. "Thank you," she replies softly. "I'd like to be alone, now," she adds, turning away.

She listens to the sound of his footsteps, steady and strong. The door creaks open and he hesitates, small traces of sympathy and pain floating toward her. "You asked me why I left the circle, if I missed Karl, right?" He pauses, a soft sigh slipping through. "I left because I wanted to see the sky through nothing but my own eyes, and not a sheet of glass. And once I saw it, I wanted more."

The door creaks and clicks behind him, leaving Melina with nothing but her own thoughts to listen to. Dane licks her hand, big doleful eyes full of weariness. "Good boy," she whispers, tears leaving tracks down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was thirteen, I was in a wheelchair for about a year because I couldn't use my legs. I used my experience with that to describe Melina's sensation of being unable to walk.


	10. Act Two: Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Melina injured, Anders takes over the role of primary healer for the group. Between helping his fellow mage relearn how to walk, battling darkspawn, and getting to know his new Warden companions, the last thing Anders has time for is a curious spirit of Justice. 
> 
> But Justice won't be ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When dealing with Melina's inability to walk, I will be borrowing from my own experiences during physical therapy and trying to adapt them to Thedas time. As far as Anders, I see him as bipolar and as having a mild form of adhd, and will be trying to blend his DA:A personality and the DAII personality to show a more consistent Anders.
> 
> The Dark Wolf is a previously established character who you can read about in 'A Smuggler's Chant', 'What Has Been Wrought', and 'A Dance of Crows'.

Chaos flows in ripples and waves inside his mind as he stands in the Vigil's Keep courtyard. Anger flows hot under the surface and he tampers it down, pushing it back down under the mountains of sadness and regret that also pour through him. Anders runs his hand through his deep blonde hair, letting the slightly oily strands slide against his finger as a distraction. He smiles at whatever Danette is saying, even makes a lewd joke when she pauses for breath. He forces out a laugh as she smiles and playfully pushes against his arm as Sketch joins them. He can feel himself winking at the man, but it's Karl's face he sees as he watches the two former bards. 

He knows he should be paying attention. But he can't focus his mind away from his own thoughts, not right now. Everything is a distraction. Every curl of her lips, or crinkle of his eyes. Every bit of dirt that blows past in the warm summer breeze. His fingers dance around each other as he tries to keep still, tries to hear his new commander and one time lovers. 

That's what he needs. A warm body to take his mind of his anger and pain and constantly shifting thoughts. Sex always helped when he was overwhelmed. He glances across the yard at Melina, sitting in a sturdy wooden chair with wheels and quickly scoffs at the thought. Melina is far too pure to engage in something as fun as casual sex, and he doesn't even need to be an empath to sense that. Though, the girl could certainly use the distraction, all things considered.

"You are not even hearing me, are you Anders?" Danette asks, sighing when he shrugs his shoulders in reply. "Of course you are not. Here, take this with you," she continues, handing him a small bag of coin.

He raises an eyebrow at her, glancing back and forth between her and Sketch. The coin purse is silk, soft but heavy in his palm. "Ah. Thanks. Where am I going, exactly?"

Sketch lets out a snort as Danette levels him with a glare. "Amaranthine. Dani just said she wants you to meet with a contact of Amell's, to figure out who's behind that conspiracy."

Anders blinks rapidly, trying to process everything the elven mage had said. "What's that? A conspiracy? Uh, I hate to ask, but when did that happen?" 

"You are hopeless, so it is lucky you are so handsome," Danette says in way of reply before shaking her head, thick, tight curls tumbling in her eyes. "The nobles here do not like me, because I am Orlesian. Backwater fools, the whole of them, I say. I am a Warden. I am here to battle darkspawn, and would not play the game in such a tiny and muddy place even if I were inclined to still play."

Sketch clears his throat. "Dani, love, that attitude is probably a bit why they don't like you."

"Whatever," she replies, waving her hand. "Apparently Amell knows the Dark Wolf and the rumours say he can find out any information on the Fereldan nobility I need."

Anders pauses, confusion clouding his mind. "Mels? How in the Maker's name would she know someone like the Dark Wolf?" He pauses again, momentarily pondering the name. "For that matter, who _is_ the Dark Wolf?"

Danette raises an eyebrow. "A man, I think, who knows everything to know about Fereldan nobility. He's a spy and thief and a smuggler, from what I hear."

The sound of creaking wheels makes him turn, glancing at Melina as she joins them, a tight and unfamiliar frown on her face. "He isn't a spy, but he is a thief," she corrects. "He just knows things. He has a lot of Friends."

Anders blinks at her, dumbfounded. "How in the Maker's name do you even know that?"

She blushes, and for a moment the soft gentleness that he's used to floods her face. "We were friends, during the Blight." She shakes her head, a sigh escaping her lips. "I'm coming with you," she adds, staring up at Anders with a gaze firmer than he's ever seen. 

Had fighting against the Blight changed her so much? He remembers a sweet girl who's naivety was her greatest defining feature, a girl who couldn't walk five steps without dropping a curtsy. Her shields were weak, and her emotions always on her sleeve. Now? Now her shielding is better, and he can't even sense a flicker of what she might be feeling under that determined gaze of hers.

"You're going to come with me, in that?" he asks, pointing to her chair.

Her eyes narrow, and she raises her chin a bit. "I may not be able to walk there, but I can still manage with a horse and pulley system, thank you very much. Besides, The Dark Wolf won't meet with a stranger. Dane's still recovering, so he'll stay behind." 

He catches something slipping through, pain and the feeling of missing someone all wrapped into one tiny flicker that pricks along his skin before retreating back behind her shields. He lets out a sigh, resignation settling in. He never could resist trying to heal someone's hurt.

"Alright. We should be on our way then," Anders replies. He mock bows to Danette. "We will return forthwith, Warden-Commander, and tarry not with your valuable information," he says, a smirk twisting his lips.

Danette lets out a soft chuckle. "Tarry not? Forthwith? Are you mocking the more sophisticated tongue of Orlais, old friend?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, mi'lady," Anders says, grabbing her hand and pressing a kiss against the top of it. He winks at Sketch, who has a bemused expression on his face.

"No kiss for me?" Sketch deadpans, face completely serious. 

Anders debates for a second before deciding he's got nothing left to lose, anyway. He grabs the elven man by the waist and pulls him close, bringing his lips down for a deep kiss. Sketch tastes like cinnamon and wine, and for a moment, Anders is back in the circle tower with Karl, hidden in the shadows for secret embraces. He pulls away, hiding the memories and pain beneath a charming smile as Danette laughs and claps.

He turns toward Melina, chuckling a bit at her shocked expression.

Some things never change.

 

~*~*~

 

The Amaranthine streets are crowded, and it's a struggle to fit Melina's chair through the narrow cobblestone streets. She holds a torn piece of paper in her hands, a frown tugging at her lips. The words are all in some strange code, and he can tell it's hard for even her to figure out. 

 "The forest where I saw you first, weak and dying, you healed my wounds," she mumbles, staring off into the distance. "I met him in the Brecilian Forest... He can't mean to go there, can he? No... He wouldn't ask us to travel so far out of our way on some sort of scavenger hunt... would he?"

Anders shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. "Maybe he wants you to go somewhere where healing is offered?"

Melina's face lights up. "Ah, that's it! To the Chantry, then," she replies, and Anders sighs. 

He pushes her chair all the way to the stairs leading up to the Chantry before stopping, not liking the idea of having to carry a person _and_ a sturdy chair up such a flight. A Sister comes up to them just as he's about to lift Melina into his arms. 

"Pardon me, but I are you Miss Amell?" she asks, wringing her hands.

Melina nods and the Sister hands her another piece of torn paper. "Thank you, Sister. May the Maker light your path," she says, and Anders watches as she struggles to bow slightly from her chair, that ingrained politeness still peaking out, even now.

"Demons haunted castle halls, possessing the dead and children alike," she reads.

Anders eyes bulge. "Demons, now?" he asks.

Melina's expression grows dark for a moment. "He speaks of Redcliffe, and poor Conner. You should remember that, as you did cause it," she says, as if suddenly remembering. Anders flinches, Conner's face coming to mind. He hasn't forgotten. He had spent weeks training the boy in secret, pretending to be a normal tutor whenever the Arl was around. And then he had slipped the poison in Eamon's goblet one night as they talked over a glass of wine. Eamon had trusted him. Believed him. And Anders had nearly killed him for it. He shivers, remembering Conner's face twisting with anger as the demon took hold. The weeks following that had been worse, locked and under constant guard as the Arlessa tortured him. It had been nothing less than he deserved, really, and he could hardly blame the woman. Even if he hadn't called the demons there.  
  
Melina shakes her head with a sigh. "Maybe that's why we need templars; so we don't make mistakes we regret," she continues. "We should focus on this, for the moment. Where could he mean for us to go now?" She ponders briefly, chewing on a fingernail. "Wait, in the tavern... wasn't there a notice for something called 'The Blight Orphans'?" she asks.

Anders nods. "Yeah, but Danette said it was a scam."

"Sounds like him, then," she says, a soft smile forming across her face.

The tavern provided yet another clue, a tiny piece of paper pinned to the "Orfan's" board alongside other requests for help. Most of them were poorly written, littered with spelling mistakes, save one.

_Cultists had you trapped, but a clever mind saved all your lives._

"Cultists? You fought cultists?" Anders asked, flabbergasted.

Melina's expression is haunted, and tears prick at her eyes. "I'd rather not relive that memory, please," she whispers. "It was at the temple of Andraste's Sacred Ashes. But we've already been to the Chantry..." Her voice trails off as she ponders the clue, lost in thought.

"Andraste's... You know what, nevermind. I'm not even going to ask." Anders sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. "Was a Chantry the only thing there?"

Melina closes her eyes. "There was a lot of snow and ice. And a dragon. An old temple with forgotten books and strange magic."

A dragon? Anders crosses his heart and sends a quick prayer to the Maker that he'll never have to fight one himself. He never knew she had faced so much in only a year's time. What else had he missed?

"The prison cells," Melina whispers. "Trapped..." 

Anders blinks rapidly but follows behind her as she wheels herself to the Guard House. A particularly short guard stands there, helm covering his face, and he hands her a note. Another bloody clue. Suddenly, Anders can't wait to meet this wolf and tell him exactly how he feels about this wild goose chase across the city.

_One tie in common we've always had, the one you love is of my kin. She was abandoned to a fate worse than death, but fate was thwarted in the Fade._

"What in the void is that supposed to mean?" he asks, confused. 

She shakes her head. "Jalyn," she whispers.

Anders remembers the elven girl well. She had been accused of blood magic, but he knew it wasn't true. She was a troublemaker, though, and not a healer so she was given no leeway. He can still see her blank expression after they had turned her Tranquil.  _Fate was thwarted in the Fade._ "Wait... Mels, what happened to Surana?"

Melina looks away, guilt pouring through her so strongly that it staggers him. "She... was cured. I'm not sure where she is now."

A cure? For tranquility? It wasn't possible.  _Couldn't_ be possible. He shakes the thought from his head; it was too much to think about right now. "Okay, great. Wonderful. Where does this lead us, now?" he asks, instead.

She shrugs before her eyes light up. "Fade. There's a merchant that sells staves and such, right? And next to it is an abandoned warehouse."

"That's... a bit of a stretch, don't you think?" 

Melina smiles. "My friend has a strange way of thinking," she replies.

With a small shake of his head, Anders follows behind her. The abandoned warehouse is empty, but it doesn't stop Melina from taking out her staff and tapping along the walls. Anders just watches, an awed expression on his face, as she hits the right spot. A merry sounding tapping noise knocks in reply and the wall slides open, revealing a man in a hooded cloak. He pulls down the hood, his long blonde hair in a braid down to his waist. His green eyes sparkle with joy as he reaches for Melina, wrapping her in a tight hug.

"Oiy there, good ta see ya, friend, yeah? S'been a long time," he says, and Anders recognizes a Denerim accent right away.

The Dark Wolf peers at her chair, a curious expression on his handsome face. "W'ats this, then? Somethin' happen to ya?"

Melina blushes, but can't hide the smile on her face. "It's good to see you again, as well, Maroth. The chair is only temporary while I regain my strength," she says.

Maroth lets out a snort. "Ya never were much of a liar, yeah? Alright, I won't press it. Knew ya'd figure out my clues."

Anders raises an eyebrow. "That's what they were? I could hardly tell," he drawls, arms crossed.

"Eh? Who're you? Bugger off then, right?"

Melina giggles. "Ah, by the way, how is Zevran? I was hoping to see... ." She stops mid sentence as she notices the angry scowl colouring Maroth's face. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Maroth shrugs. "Don't be. The fool assassin is out slaughterin' his kin, last I heard. Friggin' knobhead."

"I see," Melina says, grabbing his hand. "And, have you heard from your cousin?"

"Jalyn? She ran off with that shem, didn't she? Don't want ta be found."

Melina scowls but nods. She opens her mouth but Anders interrupts. "Wonderful reunion and all, but we do have more pressing matters, don't we, Mels?"

Maroth chuckles low and the sound sends a shiver down Anders' spine. "Right, yer Warden-Commnder fellow. She's got a lot of them noble bastards in a tit. I like her already," he replies, grinning. "You wanted information, yeah? Comes with a price, that does. We'll have ourselves a drink an' get ta talkin'."


	11. Act Two: Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the background on Old Stark's Farm as no information is given on it in the wiki or lore books.

A pounding roar echoes through Anders' ears as he shakes off the last of sleep's hold. An ache has settled itself deep in his bones, though most of it's in his head. He winces as he reaches for his boots, the pain a throbbing thing between his ears.  The memories of last night return in a rushing blur. "Maker help me, but why did I drink so much?"

"Because you wanted to outdo Maroth," Melina replies, already dressed and in her chair. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for  _hours._ Maroth left a while ago."

His cheeks heat up as he suddenly remembers.  _"Let's play a game, yeah? Shot fer shot, an' if ya keep up, I might just give ya a nice present," Maroth says, voice a low whisper in Anders' ear.  
_

Anders lets out a groan, putting his face between his hands. "How bad was I?"

"Terrible," Melina replies, but there isn't any judgement in her tone. "You two were kissing when suddenly, you needed to vomit. It got all over Maroth's boots. He washed you up and put you to bed, and left soon after. Said something about not taking advantage of drunk men when they can't agree to it." She giggles suddenly. "You made quite the impression."

Anders groans again, louder this time, as he runs his fingers through his hair. "Andraste's knicker weasels. I made an ass of myself, didn't I?"

Melina nods, a happy smile across her face. "You did, but Maroth didn't mind. He makes a butt of himself at least once a day," she replies, tone more cheery than he's heard since her accident. 

"Good to hear," he grumbles, reaching for his pants. He pulls them on under his mage robes and crinkles his nose in disgust. "I smell awful," he grouses. 

Melina nods her head in agreement, curls bound up a tight knot atop her head. She rummages through her pack a moment, face scrunched in concentration. "Too many things for such a small bag," she mumbles, still searching. "Ah! Here it is. This is something a friend taught me how to make. It's called perfume. It's very fashionable in Orlais."

Anders blinks at her. "I'm suddenly glad you finally left the circle and discovered what perfume is," he replies dryly, head still pounding as he reaches for the small vial. He takes the topper out and sniffs. "Gah, what is this?" he asks, sputtering. "It smells like someone vomited flowers into a bottle."

Melina frowns up at him. "It's honeysuckle and lavender mixed with rose petals," she replies. "And it smells better than actual vomit," she adds.

"That... Well, that's fair. Next time though, less sweet, for the love of Andraste."

He splashes some of the mixture on his robes and neck, nose crinkling at the overwhelmingly strong smell of floral. He thinks back to the night before, or the brief part he remembers before they started really drinking. Maroth had grinned over the flickering of gold coin in the candlelight, an almost hungry expression on his face. His green eyes had danced with joy when Anders had upturned the entire bag on the table and told him he could take the lot. His accent grew thicker the more he drank, eventually blurring into what sounded like nonsense to Anders, but he had been clear headed when he'd given the information.

Old Stark's Farm. That was where the conspirators supposedly met, in secret. Anders remembers the place. It had been abandoned years ago, judging by the worn down look the place had. 

_Rain leaks through the crumbling wood roof. The pitter patter sound matches the beating of his heart. The fire sizzles out, doused by the falling teardrops from the sky. His arm feels broken in at least two places, but he's cold down to his toes from the wet and rain and can barely feel it anymore. It's been three weeks since he escaped the tower. Three weeks since he felt suffocated by stone walls. Three weeks since he saw Karl. Blasted fool always refused to go with._

_But Karl doesn't hate the circle quite as passionately as Anders. He shivers, though more from bitter memories than the cold this time. I'll never go back. They won't catch me this time. I won't let them. I can't._  
  
But of course, when the templars found him four days later, he had gone along quietly instead of fighting. What hope did a sixteen-year-old kid have against a group of templars, anyway? Anders shakes his head, pushing the older, stale memory back into the recesses of his mind. He didn't need to feel that, not now. 

He hands Melina the piece of paper with the names of the conspirators written on it. Bann Esmerelle. Lord Guy. Ser Derren. Ser Timothy. Lady Morag. Those were the leaders, anyway. She folds the note up carefully and places it in her hidden pocket of her tiny cloth pouch. She sighs, the smallest frown curling her lips down. 

"I wish you hadn't given him  _all_ our coin," she says. "I could do with a spot of breakfast before we take to the road again."

Anders shrugs. "Could always borrow a little money from the Chantry," he replies, stretching his back until it pops. Her horrified expression makes him instantly regret making the suggestion. "I was only joking," he adds, hastily. He can tell by her disapproving look that she doesn't believe that for a second. Ah, well. "Well, best head on then!" he says, forcing some cheerfulness to his voice.

He wheels her out of the back room of the old warehouse, the bright light of the sun blinding his hungover, sensitive eyes. When the spots clear, he sees an elven woman. His legs stiffen, and it's hard for him to move for a moment. "Namaya?" He whispers the name, soft, confused. He hadn't expected to see her again, not really. She'd been so angry and hurt the last time. Afterall, he had broken a promise to her. Again. 

He can tell she's been waiting for him and mutters an excuse to Melina before walking toward the elf. "Namaya," he says, louder this time, so that it carries to her slim, pointed ears. "It's... good to see you, old friend. I'm surprised you're still here."

She scoffs, eyes narrowing and flashing dangerously. "Friend? Hmph." She shakes her head, tiny braids moving wildly. "I keep  _my_ promises. There was a cache hidden here in the city, but they already moved it. Left a few nights ago, headed out along The Pilgrim's Path. Should find what you're looking for there."

"You found it?" His heartbeat quickens at the thought. After all this time searching.... "I can't believe you kept looking."

She snorts, frowning even harder. "I, for one, am done dealing with mages. I kept my promise. There you have it."

"Er, I guess I should thank you... ."

Her voice breaks when she replies, but only for a moment before turning hard again. "Damned right you should. You get caught, Anders. I'm not helping you again. That's all I'm saying." She turns and walks away, not giving him time to respond. He watches her go for a moment, memories playing in his head. Sometimes she's smiling, naked in his arms. Other times she's scowling or crying, angry that he's lied, once again. She never even knew he was a mage, not at first. How could he tell her that, when she said she hated them so much? That lie was just the start of many, each one following the last, tumbling out of his mouth like water from a fall. 

He turns with a sigh, thumb twitching as his feet carry him back toward Melina. "I suppose that requires some explanation," he says, not meeting her eyes.

"Not if you don't want it to. It's not my place to pry," she replies. 

He looks at her then, lip curling up just a bit. "Thanks." He takes a deep breath. "You know, I might have kept a few coppers in my boot. We could grab some sausages before we head back to The Vigil."

Her smile lights up her entire face. "I do love sausages." She places her hands on the wheels of her chair, pushing herself forward. "I hear Amaranthine has imported sausages from Antiva. Zevran said they were so spicy, they'd put hair on your chest. I wonder if he was exaggerating."

That's the second time he's heard her mention that name. "Zevran?" he questions, curious. So much more had happened during the Blight than he first imagined.

"Yes! He was an Antivan Crow. He was very nice, and funny, too."

Anders balks for a second. "Did you just say an _assassin_ you met was  _nice?_ "

She laughs. "Yes, he was very kind. I don't think he really liked being an assassin as much as he pretends."

"Ah, an assassin who hates killing. Makes total sense," Anders quips.

She crinkles her nose. "Oh no, he quite enjoyed that part. He just never felt very... free. That's the part he didn't like. And he was sad. I'm not sure why, but he was very sad, though he deflected with lewd jokes."

"People don't like it when we read their emotions without permission," he chides.

"I know. I don't do it on purpose. Their emotions just... bleed off them, most of the time."

They make the rest of the trip to the meat merchant in silence, though the birds chattered loudly above them. The loud squawking of seagulls does nothing to drown out his thoughts. It was true, emotions from untrained people were always so thick and suffocating. Stifling in their depth unless he blocked them out with shielding and mindless busywork. 

But the sausages were hot and plump and spicy enough that he could cry and it didn't look like he was falling apart inside. And if Melina noticed differently, she kept her silence and he thanked the Maker for it.  


	12. Act Two: Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absented minded and forgot my own headcanon. Jowan was already with the Warden and group and therefor couldn't poison Arl Eamon, so it was Anders who did it in my AU. Which means Anders would have known about the demons at Redcliffe and that conversation should have happened a bit differently. So, this is what I changed and how the new scene reads (not a lot different), so you don't have to go back and re-read the whole chapter just for this one bit.
> 
> "Demons haunted castle halls, possessing the dead and children alike," she reads.
> 
> Anders eyes bulge. "Demons, now?" he asks.
> 
> Melina's expression grows dark for a moment. "He speaks of Redcliffe, and poor Conner. You should remember that, as you did cause it," she says, as if suddenly remembering. 
> 
> Anders flinches, Conner's face coming to mind. He hasn't forgotten. He had spent weeks training the boy in secret, pretending to be a normal tutor whenever the Arl was around. And then he had slipped the poison in Eamon's goblet one night as they talked over a glass of wine. Eamon had trusted him. Believed him. And Anders had nearly killed him for it. He shivers, remembering Conner's face twisting with anger as the demon took hold. The weeks following that had been worse, locked and under constant guard as the Arlessa tortured him. It had been nothing less than he deserved, really, and he could hardly blame the woman. 
> 
> Even if he hadn't called the demons there.
> 
> Melina shakes her head with a sigh. "Maybe that's why we need templars; so we don't make mistakes we regret," she continues. "We should focus on this, for the moment. Where could he mean for us to go now?" She ponders briefly, chewing on a fingernail. "Wait, in the tavern... wasn't there a notice for something called 'The Blight Orphans'?" she asks.
> 
> Anders nods. "Yeah, but Danette said it was a scam."

Nathaniel's voice is the first to reach his ears, warm and rich and hedged with curiosity. It echos from the far room as Anders tip toes along the wall outside in the hall. "I don't know. Can you still walk around once you're simply bones?"

A second voice answers, loud and booming, echoing in dual tones. "So I'm led to believe, yes."

Anders shivers at the thought; he can almost hear the skeletal bones clicking as a demon makes them walk. He banishes the thought from his mind, refusing to contemplate the what ifs. It wasn't his problem. It was a Warden pro- Oh. Right. The  _Joining._ He can still taste the burning, toxic metallic taste of the darkspawn blood as it slid down his throat. Visions of dragons roared in his brain, blighted and angry. All those voices ran through his mind in an instant, the sensation of so much thought and evil overwhelming. 

And now he can sense the little blighters everywhere he goes. Of course he can. Bloody warden curse. Somedays, it feels like he changed one prison for another.

"That is incredibly disturbing," Nathaniel replies, echoing Anders' thoughts. "What if you found a living body to possess?" 

Anders' heart begins to race, thundering beneath his chest as he enters the room. He can see Justice, a soft glow emanating from his corpse body. Bits of flesh hang off in weird spots, rotting and putrid but seemingly held in a temporary limbo, as if the spirit was slowing the rate of decay.

"Even if I knew how, I would not possess the living. Such an act is for demons," it replies.

Anders scoffs, eying it warily. Spirits of Justice are all well and good- in the Fade, where they belong. "Right, because if the body is dead it's not a demon thing at all," he says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"I did not wish to possess this one," Justice reminds him, frowning. It turns back toward Nathaniel, eye twitching slightly, as if the muscles weren't sure if they were supposed to move or not. "Why would a mortal allow such a thing?"

Nathaniel shrugs, meeting the spirit's questioning gaze. "Perhaps together, you can do what they cannot do alone. If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon."

The spirit seems surprised by the answer. "It is... something to consider. Thank you, Nathaniel."

Anders sputters for a moment. "It is  _not_ something to consider. Don't consider that. Bad idea. Very bad."

Nathaniel shakes his head, pushing away from the wall he's leaning against. "Enough serious talk. That joining thing made me hungry. Let's eat."

Anders sighs, but follows. In all the years trapped in the circle, he never thought the future held this for him. Sometimes he'd dream about being free. He'd pretend he had plenty of friends, dwarves and elves and humans. He'd imagine them eating together and telling bad jokes at a tavern. But the daydreams always shattered when the templars found him in whatever hidden corner of the tower he'd been hiding. In truth, he never made many friends. Just Karl and the circle cat, Mr. Wiggums. And even they both left him, eventually. 

Anders picks at his food, barely listening as Nathaniel and Sketch argue over politics. He feels alone and isolated, even surrounded by people here at Vigil's Keep. A tiny scratching at his ankle draws his attention to the floor. An orange and brown cat sits at his feet, purring against his leg. He smiles, reaching down to scratch the tiny thing between the ears. 

"Ugh. We have cats here now, too? How wretched," Danette says as she enters the dining hall. "Tiny little balls of fur, fleas, and dirt."

Anders frowns as he picks off a piece of his chicken for the cat. "Don't say that! He's such a cute little thing. And he'll keep the mice away, won't you little kitty?" The cat meows in response as it takes the bite of food, devouring so fast Anders is surprised he didn't choke on it.

Danette lets out a short bark of laughter. "Oh? You like cats, then, mon ami? Then take it."

He blinks at her, not understanding at first. "You mean I can keep it? Like a pet?" He stares down into the kitten's big, round eyes, and his heart skips a beat. A pet all his own?

Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. "I'd druther have a mabari," he says before looking down at the cat. "I suppose the cat won't be as fierce of a protector."

"Nonsense. He'll be a fierce attack kitty, won't you Ser Pounce-A-Lot?" Anders coos, picking the kitten up and holding it close to his chest.

Nathaniel chuckles, a low deep sound that makes Anders shiver slightly. The rogue certainly knew how to turn a man on, even if it was unintentional. "That name is a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

Anders scoffs. "Not as ridiculous as your hair," he quips back.

The archer's eyes widen as he reaches a hand back to touch his long, brown hair. "What's wrong with my hair?" he asks.

"Probably all the noble braiding," Sketch offers, taking a bite from a chicken leg. "Awful fancy for a warden."

Anders winks at Nathaniel. "Don't worry, you're still very fetching, Nate."

He snorts in reply though a small blush has creeped in. "Shut it, you."

 

~*~*~

 

Anders looks out across the Wending Wood, the turbulent emotions of the dead elves still lingering in the early morning air, and takes a deep breath. "So this is freedom," he whispers.

Danette turns to him, a smirk playing on the edges of her lips. "Freedom? Is that what you call this? Ah, here I thought we Wardens were forever chained by our duty."

"Oh joy. You must be great at parties," Anders snarks back.

Danette shrugs, squatting down to look at the tiny tracks in the dirt. "It appears like whoever killed these elves has left. They covered their tracks well, unfortunately. I cannot make out much past this point."

Nathaniel frowns, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. "Nor can I. They covered them well, indeed. Strange, considering the evidence leads credence to this being a darkspawn attack. I wasn't aware darkspawn hid their tracks."

Sketch snorts in reply but it's Danette who answers. "They do not. But once I also believed they did not speak, and yet here we are."

A life force, faded and tainted, flickers on the edge of Anders' perception. "There's someone still alive near here. Maybe we should find them?" A warm breeze blows his hair, and the stench of rotting flesh comes with it. Anders never realized that freedom had such a hefty price tag.

He follows behind his new Commander, watching as she creeps along the edges of the bushes. He lets his mind wander back to the moment he had first met Danette and Sketch, several years ago at The Pearl Brothel. Before Danette become a Warden.

He can see her playful smirk as he hesitantly leans in for a kiss. The Pearl was the perfect hiding place at the time. The templars didn't expect a mage to pose as a prostitute. He'd been seventeen, just a few months from his Harrowing. Of course, he'd told Sanga he was nineteen. Just one more lie among many. He never asked what two Orlesian bards were doing in Ferelden, of all places, but he knew they left without finding what they were looking for. He wonders how Danette became a warden, when she seemed to enjoy The Game so much; more so than Sketch, anyway.

The stench of taint overwhelms as they approach a wounded man lying on the ground- the life force Anders had sensed. "Please... kill me," he whispers.

His skin is rotting at a faster rate than it should, bits of flesh hanging off and dark circles lining his eyes. Anders turns away to vomit in the bushes, heaving out the remainder of his lunch across the bright green grass. He kneels there for a moment, head spinning, as Danette questions the man. A warm hand touches his shoulder and he turns his head slightly to see who.

"Here," Nathaniel says, handing him a small vial. "Eases the stomach. You okay?"

Anders shakes his head. "I am a healer, you know," he replies, ignoring the vial and the warmth of Nathaniel's hand.

A rude snort comes from behind him. "Yeah, you mages and your instant healing shit. Sounds dangerous, if you ask me," Nathaniel replies. "Calling on spirits or whatever to make people better? Hmph.  This'll make you feel better and not risk possession."

Anders lets out a small laugh and begrudgingly takes the vial. It tingles on the way down, but eases the nausea in his stomach almost instantly. He looks over his shoulder at the rogue. "Thank you," he says, smiling.

Nathaniel grins back and offers him a hand. "Anytime, friend," he replies.

"I need both of you over here, please," Danette says, a small frown tugging the corners of her lips down. "This man confirmed that it was indeed darkspawn who killed the elves. He... He says they laid human weapons around the dalish camp, like a trap."

Sketch strokes his chin in thought. "Like they did with Kristoff. But who are they trapping now?"

Danette grips her daggers tight, turning away from the now dead man. She leads them quietly toward the dalish camp, where weapons lay lazily scattered across the ground. Danette crouches down, inspecting the markings.

A strange sound and the tingle of magic is the first thing Anders notices. He reaches back for his staff, the hairs on the back of his neck raised as throwns and branches form a strange shape behind them. They sink back into the ground as fast as they appeared, and he can see his companions standing with weapons at the ready out of the corner of his eye.

In front of him stands a Dalish woman with blonde hair and steel grey eyes. Her robes are tattered and stink of leather. "Another scavenger here to prey on the misfortunes of others? No, you are too well armed. Here for me then.  _You_ will not drive me from these forests. The shems could not do it, the darkspawn could not, and you will fare no better."

And then she's gone again, tree roots coming up from the ground and whisking her away. Or maybe they just hid her like barrier and she ran? It was hard for Anders to tell. Dalish magic was strange, wild, not like the magic they taught at the circle.

"Please, she isn't usually like this," a second voice says from behind them. Anders spins around to see another Dalish standing there, her robes still stinking of leathers but less ripped and torn. "Well, I suppose she's always angry, but usually without the murderous part. Sort of. Anyway, hello. I'm Merrill. That is the proper way to introduce yourself to humans, right? You do have names, right? Sorry. I'm not very good at this." Her words tumble out in a rush, her short black hair tumbling into her eyes.

Anders shakes his head. What in the Maker's name have I gotten myself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Merrill. I know, not a usual addition to DA:A, but it fits where I need the story to go. You can read about how Merrill and Velanna ended up together here, in a short one-shot: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7112710


	13. Act Two: Chapter Four

 

Danette glances over at the elf before turning back to the strewn weapons. "I thought the Dalish were skilled hunters and trackers? These weapons were obviously placed here deliberately: look at the tracks. Too large for a human or elf but not large enough to be a Qunari. And not wide enough to be dwarven." The disdain is heavy in her tone, but laced with curiosity nonetheless.

Nathaniel kneels down, staring at something. "And they don't have a normal step, either. _People_ leave tracks where the toe is deeper than the heel, usually. These are more evenly impressioned, clumsy."

Sketch frowns. "You mean like darkspawn." 

A shiver runs down Anders' spine. He's not sure if it's the taint inside him from the Joining or if it's just a natural aversion any human being should have but the thought of even more darkspawn makes him cold inside. A strange combination of anger and nausea. He doesn't much like the feeling, if he's being honest with himself, and for a brief moment he considers if the circle hadn't been a better option, after all.

The elf shakes her head, tiny braids swishing. "Our mages aren't trackers; we keep the lore and old ways. The mages hold the history and stories," she replies, pride tinging her voice as she peers over at the swords and daggers. "I did tell her it seemed a bit strange that they'd leave their weapons behind, but Velanna can't see reason while her sister is still missing." She blinks a moment, still staring, before shaking her head again. "I told you my name, right? Merrill. Of Clan Sabrae, First to Keeper Marethari. You have griffons on your armour, so you must be Grey Wardens. That's why you're here, isn't it? You mentioned darkspawn. The sun's too nice for darkspawn." Her words come in a rush again, as if her thoughts are moving faster than her lips and tongue can spill them out in the form of sentences.

The sun's too nice... ? Anders stares, mouth agape, at Merrill, baffled by her constant shifting train of thought. He glances up at the sky a moment, the bright sun spilling through the clouds. "Maybe that's why they come to the surface, to see the sun. Can't imagine they see much of that in the Deep Roads," he quips.

Merrill blinks. "You think so? That seems so sad," she replies, and Anders wonders whether or not she's being serious. 

Danette raises an eyebrow. "There is nothing sad about darkspawn. They are evil, vile creatures, and if you sympathize with them then you are no better." Her voice is cold and hard, and grief wafts off her in gentle waves. Anders thinks back to Kristoff, and the pain he had felt from his commander at the time. She must have really cared for him. Or perhaps she's always hated darkspawn this much. He wonders, briefly, what had happened to make her a Warden. Was it tragedy or choice? Or perhaps a bit of both?

Sketch rests a hand on her shoulder, brows furrowed as he meets Danette's gaze. "I don't think she meant it that way, Dani. Don't be so hard on the girl. Looks like she lost her clan," he says.

Merrill blinks, big green eyes full of curiosity. "This wasn't my clan, it was part of Velanna's. My clan is near Kirkwall." She pauses, closing her eyes as she tilts her head toward the graves. "Seranni, Ianto, Nerys, Aerona; Falon’Din enasal enaste," she whispers, sorrow tinging the lilting accent.

Anders clears his throat, the tension thick as butter. "Uh, well. I'm Anders. That's Sketch and Nathaniel. We're wardens, as you guessed. Well most of us are. He's just an apostate," he says, gesturing at Sketch.

Sketch raises an eyebrow. "Thanks," he replies dryly. "Well, looks like we have darkspawn to kill. Let's get to it. I dislike this place."

Danette smirks over at him. "Don't worry, love, the wardens will protect you from the big, bad darkspawn," she teases, and Anders is relieved to see her anger has dissipated. 

"Thanks," Sketch repeats, tone still dry and mildly annoyed. "How thoughtful of you."

Merrill hesitates a moment before nodding. "Yes, I will help you kill these darkspawn. Velanna might see reason, if I find proof that Seranni is gone."

Danette frowns, eyes narrowing at the petite elf. "Yes, fine of course, but do try not to get in the way."

Merrill nods, green eyes staring out into the distance, as if she can see something they can't. "I'll try not to hit anyone. On our side, I mean. I'm babbling again. Let's go."

"That's, uh, reassuring," Anders mumbles, sighing as Danette takes point. Somehow, everything feels different now. The air seems to hum with magic as Merrill walks next to him. Is that what all Dalish magic feels like? Alive? Or is it just Merrill?

A thousand questions nag at his brain. He's never met a Dalish before. Plenty of elves, both in the circle and in some of the places he's hid. But never one of the wandering folk. He remembers stories of them when he was little. They always sounded so horrifying and mystical, like a far away legend. Something untouchable. Great monsters with pointy ears and pointier daggers, that steal children in the night for elven rituals. Not real and tangible. And the stories never told of a mage who's mind wanders even more than her people. He glances over at Merrill out of the corner of his eye. She seems so innocent. He wonders if she really is.

 

~*~*~

The stench of darkspawn is overwhelming as Anders slings fireball after fireball at the blighters. He can feel the strain on his mana reserves and grits his teeth, determintion clawing its way through the exhaustion. Merrill is behind him, and he can feel her darker, wilder magic flowing. Tree roots come out of nowhere to trip enemies lit on fire, the ground lifts itself into small boulders that knock even the taller darkspawn over. It's all connected to nature, to the earth and trees and bright, green growing things. Anders' magic is primal and healing based, limited by the circle teachings. 

His frustration grows but he tampers it back, focusing on the fight. A shriek sneaks up behind Sketch, wicked curved blade so close to sinking into the man's back that Anders' feels the fear like bile in his throat. But the moment it steps forward, it's flung backward, and he can just make out the glowing aura of a repulsion glyph on the ground. Danette's a blur in the shadows that Anders can't keep track of. He can see Nathaniel, however, and takes a moment to appreciate his taunt muscles as he draws his bowstring. The lanky archer turns, pointing the tip of his arrow at Anders before letting loose.

Anders' eyes widen in panic as it flies past him. An angry snarling sound catches his attention and he turns, seeing a pissed off darkspawn with an arrow in its eye. "Oh, thanks," he calls out, still in shock but already calling up more of his mana to finish off the beasty.

The last hurlock falls and Nathaniel's hand is on his shoulder. "Perhaps it would be wise to keep your mind on the battle, friend, instead of watching me," he quips, dark voice like honey and firewater.

Anders can feel himself blushing as he turns around. "I- I wasn't watching you," he says. "I was checking the battlefield." The excuse sounds ridiculous, even to his own ears, and Nathaniel just chuckles. Anders wishes he could wipe that awful smirk off the man's face. "Oh shut it, you," he finishes, putting his staff away. 

"I don't mind, but I've only just stopped wishing all the warden's dead. It would be a shame if the most attractive one died first," Nathaniel says before turning and walking away.

Did he.... Anders rubs the back of his neck, baffled. Did he just flirt with me? He didn't expect the brooding ex noble to flirt with men, least of all a mage. His eyes drift to the man's ass, lingering on the way it moves as Nathaniel joins their Commander.

Commander. Right. He was supposed to be working. Paying attention. Not lusting after his fellow warden. Damn it all.

His thoughts drift as he follows them, trying hard not to focus on Nathaniel's shapely assets. He thinks back to the circle, instead, a flood of memories that overwhelm him.

_The stench of unwashed bodies fills the tiny ship as he cries, silent. He looks up at the templars, their faces pinched into scowls. The sun reflects off the shiny armour, making them seem twice as intimidating. They push him forward, toward the gangway that would take him to land. He digs his heels in, refusing to budge. He wants to go home. He misses the harsh feel of winter and cold. He misses his mother, most of all._

_"Stupid brat, let's go," a templar says, shoving him so hard that he falls to his knees._

_Pain shoots through his body as one of them kicks him. "No use struggling, you little shit. Your mommy can't save you now."_

_Tears flow in silent tracks down his cheeks as he glares up at the templars. He hates them. With all of his tiny being, he decides then and there that he hates them with everything he has. Fire crackles on his fingertips. If only he were stronger... Maybe then, mommy would still be alive...._

_One of the templars picks him, throwing him over his shoulder. "Snot nosed little brat. This is better for you, if you just keep quiet."_

_Another one snorts with laughter. "Quiets all he's been, isn't it? Maybe he's daft or somethin', you think?"_

_The one holding him grunts in reply. "Probably just scared. They all are, at first."_

_"Good," the first one says. "If they're scared, then they won't fight back as hard."_

_The tone in his voice sends a shiver down his spine._

Anders pushes the memories away as they come upon another cluster of darkspawn. The other Dalish is there, using tree roots to grapple the monsters to the ground. "Die, fiends," she screeches, brows furrowed as she flings spells around.

"Me vhenan," Merrill calls out, rushing into the midst of battle and standing at Velanna's side.

The five of them quickly defeat the small cluster of darkspawn. Velanna turns her staff toward the wardens, growling low in her throat. "Stay back, shems! I won't let you take me like you took Shianni!"

Merrill steps in front of her. "Ma vhenan, listen, please. It was the darkspawn who took Shianni. Here," she says, handing over a small trinket.

Velanna's eyes widen as she takes it before tears spill down her cheeks. "The darkspawn?" she whispers, voice soft and hoarse. "Creators..." Her knees buckle from under her and a wave of grief hits Anders' so hard that he stumbles back. She howls in pain as Merrill holds her and strokes her soft blonde hair. Merrill whispers in a language he doesn't understand but whatever it is, it sounds like it's meant to offer comfort.

Dani steps forward, her expression softening. "We can't bring her back, friend, but we can help you get revenge."

Velanna looks up at the Commander, tear stained face hardening. "I am not your friend, shemlen, but I will fight at your side and see everyone of these wretched fiends dead. And I think I know where we can find them, Creators willing."

Dani grins. "I am always pleased to slay more darkspawn. Come, lead the way then."

The abandoned structure lay close by, ancient magic singing from the stones. They creep toward the center of the room, the only light coming from the tip of Sketch's staff. The hairs on the back of Anders' neck are on edge as some strange force holds them still. 

Anders looks up and his mouth falls open at the horrific sight of the large darkspawn and it's dwarven ghoul companion. "Shhhh, sleep." A glyph glows brightly on the ground and he can feel his consciousness slipping away. His last thought before hitting the ground was that he didn't want to become a ghoul, too.


End file.
